


A Wolf's Ribbon

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Good Peter Hale, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Mpreg, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Prince Derek, Prince Stiles, Scarred Derek, The Hale Fire, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek had been coached on how to approach the child heir apparent while hundreds of eyes watched him. He kept his eyes focused on the cradle, leaning over the edge as best he could to see the baby everyone had been talking about.</p><p>Stiles smiled when he saw Derek, kicking his legs out as he reached a hand up for him. He cooed at Derek, his fingers grabbing at the older boy in an attempt to touch him, all to no avail. He gurgled out a laugh when Derek reached a hand down into the cradle, snatching hold of his fingers as best he could.</p><p>Derek offered a small smile in response, allowing Stiles to playfully tug on his hand.</p><p>The two children made an adorable sight before the Court and their parents. That was the moment Queen Talia and King John decided to arrange their marriage. Every second was planned out without the voiced concern of the children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheCriminal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCriminal/gifts).



> Hey, guys!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic! It's been a long time in the mix, and I really enjoyed writing it. I will be posting chapters periodically throughout today, as it is a birthday present for my beloved [kilaem](http://kilaem.tumblr.com).
> 
> Hope you have a fantastic birthday, babe <3
> 
> P.S. This was totally inspired by The Swan Princess and faery tales in general.

Stiles was five when he remembered meeting Derek for the first time. He felt ridiculous in his ornate clothes, thinking he looked like a joke with the way his limbs appeared longer than they were supposed to in the short sleeves. He pulled at the locket around his neck, running it back and forth on the chain as he fiddled with opening it—a nervous habit he had developed over the years.

The locket was silver with the engraving of a wolf. It had been given to Stiles on his nameday, when he was nothing more than six months old. All the royals were invited to lay eyes upon him, an inspection of sorts for them to pay their respects to the King for fathering an heir. The locket had been a gift from Derek.

Derek, similar to how Stiles was dressed now, had been coached on how to approach the child heir apparent while hundreds of eyes watched him. He kept his eyes focused on the cradle, leaning over the edge as best he could to see the baby everyone had been talking about. He didn’t see what the fuss was about—the child looked the same as Derek’s younger sister, Cora, did.

Stiles smiled when he saw Derek, kicking his legs out as he reached a hand up for him. He cooed at Derek, his fingers grabbing at the older boy in an attempt to touch him, all to no avail. He gurgled out a laugh when Derek reached a hand down into the cradle, snatching hold of his fingers as best he could.

Derek offered a small smile in response, allowing Stiles to playfully tug on his hand. He moved to dangle the gift his mother had commissioned—a silver locket with a wolf engraved on it—above Stiles. The wolf was sacred to Derek’s family, being part of the Hale family crest helped to spare the endless poaching they suffered for their fur.

Stiles’ eyes immediately caught sight of the silver dangling above him. He kept his hold on Derek’s hand, reaching his other arm out to grab at the locket just out of his reach.

The two children made an adorable sight before the Court and their parents. That was the moment Queen Talia and King John decided to arrange their marriage. Every second was planned out without the voiced concern of the children. They were to spend the summers together until Stiles became of age, all in hopes that they would agree to marry.

That was the reason Stiles was standing next to his father, eyes watching the beautifully ornate royal carriage as they both awaited the Hales. Stiles leaned into his father’s side when the Queen exited the carriage, followed by a now older Derek. He grabbed his father’s hand, unwilling to go near the visitors.

“Talia, it’s so good to see you,” John greeted her, slipping his hand out of Stiles’ in order to place it calmingly against his son’s back.

“John,” Talia nodded her head in greeting. “We’re very humbled to be invited to your fair kingdom once again.” She turned to look at Derek, gesturing her head towards the King and Stiles.

“Mother,” Derek lowly growled as he locked his arms across his chest.

“Derek,” Talia hissed in a low, reprimanding tone.

Derek rolled his eyes, stomping forward to stand in front of the King and his son. He bowed as he was instructed to, holding his cape out to prevent it from throwing him off balance. “Hello, Prince Meonenim. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Stiles looked up at his father, unsure if it was okay to answer. He hesitantly moved closer to Derek, clumsily bowing in a similar manner to Derek. “I’m pleased to meet you, Prince Derek.”

Derek stood, moving back to his mother without offering Stiles another word. He didn’t care if the foreign prince was upset with his attitude. He didn’t want to be forced to babysit Stiles for the summer, knowing he wouldn’t find anything in common with the boy four years his junior.

It was obvious from the beginning that this summer was going to be what neither of them had as an idea of fun.

~*~

Derek released a huff of annoyance as he tried to find a place where Stiles wasn’t. He snuck into the garden’s maze, hiding among the shrubbery to avoid his mother’s chastising and his sisters’ mocking. He didn’t want to deal with an eight year old chasing him around his palace home.

The former summers were unbearable enough as Derek had to lessen his interests to please the younger boy. He had almost no moment to himself as he dealt with Stiles continually asking him to play various games—and for his mother’s benefit, Derek agreed every time. But now that they were hosting the Stilinskis in their kingdom, all Derek wanted was to spend a few hours every day to continue his studies—in peace. He was hiding in one of the maze’s alcoves, snacking on an apple as he leisurely read another chapter of his book.

Derek paused when he heard soft sobs coming from somewhere in the maze. He at first believed they were just his imagination twisting the sound of a bird. But, as the sobs continued without moving location, Derek was certain it was someone in the maze. Perhaps one of the visiting children from the Court had been lost within it.

Derek sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to finish reading with that noise happening. He went in search of the noise, taking a few wrong turns before he discovered the sobbing coming from the fountain. He paused when he saw that the sobbing was in fact coming from none other than Stiles.

Stiles was sitting on the lip of the fountain, his hands fisting his trousers as he kept his head down. His shoulders shook as more sobs cracked from his chest. He angrily wiped at his eyes, pushing the tears away. He startled when he noticed that Derek was standing by one of the maze’s openings.

“Leave me alone,” Stiles bitterly stated as he turned his body away from Derek.

“Hard to leave you alone when you’re crying loud enough to interrupt my reading,” Derek countered.

“Then go in the library,” Stiles snapped.

“It’s my palace,” Derek answered, annoyed that Stiles was acting upset with him.

“Just go away, Derek!” Stiles nearly pleaded.

Derek frowned, shuffling his book into his other hand as he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. He moved forward, ignoring Stiles’ lame attempt to scoot further down the fountain to get away from him. He held out his handkerchief to Stiles, slightly waving it in front of the younger boy when he made no move to take it.

Stiles snatched the handkerchief from Derek’s hand, wiping his tears away with it.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked in a softer tone. “Did you get lost in here?”

Stiles offered a scoff in return. “I’m not that helpless.”

“Only one of these openings leads back into the palace gardens,” Derek replied. He faintly smiled when he saw Stiles’ eyes quickly tracking around them to try and remember how he got in here. “I’ll help you get out if you tell me what’s wrong.”

Stiles looked down at the handkerchief, folding it in his hands. “My mom,” he started, sniffling a little as he shook his head. “My mom has been really sick lately. My dad just got a letter—she’s gotten a lot worse. We’re supposed to go back and see her.”

Derek slowly moved forward, taking the seat beside Stiles. “You can come back,” he offered, unsure why Stiles was upset.

“It’s not that,” Stiles answered, pressing his face into his hands. “She might not get better.” His voice wavered as he sucked in a sharp breath. “We might not even make it home in time.”

Derek set his book down on the stone ledge between them, reaching his hand out to take Stiles’. He stood, gently pulling Stiles along with him. “Come on,” he uttered, the only instruction he gave Stiles as he moved for the opening that would bring them back to the palace gardens.

Stiles was silent in his agreement to follow Derek, keeping Derek’s handkerchief clutched in one hand as he held onto Derek’s hand with the other. He kept his head down as they passed servants and visiting Courtiers, knowing that they were buzzing to discover why the young princes were finally holding hands.

Derek brought them before the doors to Queen Talia’s study, instructing Stiles to wait a moment before he slipped into the room.

With Derek’s urging, it only took Talia an hour to arrange their fastest ship to embark on a journey back to the Stilinski kingdom. Talia was the one to inform John, refusing to allow him to make his profuse apologies. She wished them good fortune, a pride welling in her as she watched Derek escort Stiles onto the ship.

“I’m sorry our trip was cut short. I was looking forward to spending more time here,” Stiles sadly stated, his eyes rimmed red from his crying. He bit his bottom lip, guilt welling in his chest as he fiddled with Derek’s handkerchief.

Derek saw the way Stiles hesitated in wishing to part. He knew the younger boy had grown somewhat attached to him, and part of Derek would miss the undivided attention he felt when Stiles was around. But he also knew that Stiles had to focus on the time he had left with his mother in the coming weeks, and didn’t deserve to have guilt tearing at his conscience.

“I suppose I’ll see you next summer,” Derek offered, taking in a deep breath as he prayed that he wasn’t about to make Stiles cry. “When you’re finally taller.”

“I’m not that short!” Stiles countered as he looked up at Derek, refusing to admit that the older boy was indeed several inches taller than him.

“Keep telling yourself that and perhaps you’ll manage to grow a few inches out of spite,” Derek stated, a small victory pulling at his heart when Stiles glowered at him.

“I can’t believe I thought you were nice,” Stiles stated as he moved away from Derek.

“That makes you a fool as well,” Derek commented as he clasped his hands behind his back. “A short fool.”

“I hate you, and I never care if we come back,” Stiles viciously snapped as he turned and stalked towards the door that would serve as his and his father’s cabin for the voyage.

Derek let out an easy breath, knowing that Stiles would be holding that grudge until the next summer. He turned from the ship, moving down the ramp and back onto the dock. He hoped Stiles wouldn’t cry from their exchange, knowing that the younger prince was more sensitive in all matters than he pretended.

~*~

Stiles and Derek did not see one another the following summer, the entire Stilinski kingdom in mourning for the loss of their Queen. Derek didn’t even speak with Stiles at Queen Claudia’s funeral, seeing how withdrawn and upset Stiles was. He did recognize his handkerchief clutched in the boy’s hand as he stood by his father.

Derek was fourteen when he went to the Stilinski palace for a summer. His mother did not accompany him, remaining at home to deal with various affairs of state. He felt at ease without his mother there, knowing that he didn’t have to put on a show to please anyone. He wasn’t surprised by Stiles’ initial dismissal of him, noting that he was quieter than normal. Unless he was with his childhood friend, Scott McCall.

Scott and Stiles were as obnoxious as they were inseparable. They enjoyed annoying Derek to the point of him actively barring the door to whatever room he was inhabiting to ensure peace and quiet.

Derek would state, endlessly, that it was Stiles’ fault that they both ended up with broken arms.

Scott was the one that realized Derek had a fear of heights when he refused to climb very unsteady rope ladder into a very unsturdy tree house. Even though it was Scott who discovered Derek’s fear, it was Stiles who cruelly dared him to enter the tree house. Derek’s pride was the one that forced him to climb up to the tree house.

And it was also Stiles who climbed up the rope ladder to reach for a terrified Derek when he realized he was too afraid to climb back down. Stiles ended up pulling too hard on Derek’s arm, until he lost his balance and they both fell out of the tree house.

Derek had tried to steady them when he noticed Stiles started to fall backwards, prompting him to move forward. Somehow, Derek had wound up underneath Stiles when they fell. The end result was both princes in a heap on the ground, Stiles hurriedly pleading with an unconscious Derek to be alright.

Derek had awoken in his bed in the Stilinski palace, his arm and shoulder wrapped in bandages, supported by expertly fluffed pillows. His whole body ached as he recalled falling out of the tree house. He thought he was dreaming when he felt movement at the end of the bed, prompting him to look.

Stiles was hunched over, asleep at the foot of Derek’s bed, the lower half of his body resting in a chair. He startled when Derek tossed one of the books on his nightstand at him.

The two of them fought about who was to blame before King John entered the room to forcefully lead Stiles outside.

Talia was not pleased when Derek got off the ship with his arm in a sling, refusing to write Stiles an apology for yelling at him before his departure.

~*~

When Stiles was twelve, he learned how much he detested the leisurely sports of the Court. He hated how pleased the practicers looked whenever they won or a favorite performed well. As was mandatory, Derek was wearing Stiles’ favors, both of them annoyed in the way they were refused a choice. But both for different reasons.

Derek flirted with different Courtiers, ever the charming prince whenever he encountered one. Stiles pretended that his book was more interesting than Derek and his success in the various games. All until the fencing tournament was down to Derek and a prominent Courtier’s son.

Stiles sighed as his father pushed him towards the small scaffolding, ribbons in his hand as he greeted Derek. He was relieved when Derek parted from the group of Courtiers’ children he had been becoming relatively closer with in recent weeks. He didn’t like them, and they definitely didn’t like him—they laughed and mocked him in subtle ways that they pretended were in good faith.

Derek had always told them to leave Stiles alone, but it felt cold and untrue. He didn’t show Stiles disdain as much as he did show indifference towards him. It was as if he didn’t care that Stiles had crossed the great sea to spend time with him.

“Do you think you’re going to win?” Stiles asked as he tied the ribbon around Derek’s bicep. He had seen how easily Derek’s opponent dispatched challenger after challenger.

“Yes,” Derek simply answered as he looked elsewhere besides Stiles.

“He’s two years older than you,” Stiles commented, thinking about how much longer the eighteen year old had been practicing.

“And you’re four years younger than me and I’m expected to marry you,” Derek countered in an annoyed tone.

Stiles looked up at Derek, pretending that it didn’t hurt every time Derek used their age difference as a way to drive a bigger gap between them. “It’s a good thing I’m not going to be forced to marry him, then.”

Derek turned to look at Stiles with a pensive look. “Why do you act like it doesn’t bother you?”

“Because it doesn’t bother me,” Stiles weakly stated. There were plenty of worse people in the world that Stiles could be forced into an arranged marriage with. “And besides, when I turn eighteen, you can always reject me.” He tried to act nonchalant about it, that being rejected by Derek wouldn’t hurt.

“You’re twelve, you don’t understand what it’s like,” Derek concluded.

“Stop treating me like a child,” Stiles stated.

“You are a child,” Derek countered as he turned to look at Stiles. “I appreciate you agreeing to our parents’ charade by allowing me to wear your colors, given that it would be an embarrassment to be wearing none. But this isn’t a choice either of us have made.”

Stiles turned his head, taking in a deep breath to push down the panic rising in his chest, hearing just how deplorable Derek felt about their situation. “He favors his left side.”

“What?” Derek questioned, only partially hearing Stiles.

“When his opponent parries, he favors his left side,” Stiles stated as he looked at Derek. “It’s as if he’s trying to protect it. If you passé on his left, he’ll be confused when he tries to parry you, and you should get a hit in.” He nodded, more to himself as he turned and went back to his seat by his father.

Derek won the match, gifting his sabre to Stiles.

Stiles kept the sabre, anxiously waiting until he got home to mount it on the sword display above the fireplace in his room.

~*~

With all the upheaval and disputes happening the Hale Kingdom, Stiles continually made the trip across the sea to visit them the following summers, knowing that the Hales couldn’t leave their kingdom with absent rulers. With each passing summer, Derek continued to grow more distant. Sometimes, Stiles would go a week without seeing Derek. He took consolation in visiting with Cora, happy that not all the Hales viewed him with the unwarranted disdain Derek did.

Stiles wasn’t happy when his father informed him that he’d be going alone to the Hale Kingdom when he turned fourteen.

Stiles felt out of place in the Hale Court. He still hated the way he looked, thinking that every comparison to a deer the others made was accurate. He heard the whispers that Derek was courting someone else—someone Stiles couldn’t hold a candle to.

Kate Argent was beautiful. She was far Derek’s senior, but she was a fierce competitor when it came to winning. She easily avoided negative talk, smiling and laughing when appropriate, always working her mischief behind closed curtains. If her deeds could be called mischievous and not downright cruel.

Stiles hated her. From the moment she purposefully tripped him going into the ballroom upon his arrival. He completely lost his balance and fell into the curtain, accidentally pulling it off the hooks. He thought about laying under the curtain forever, his face burning with humiliation as the others laughed.

It was Derek who pulled Stiles out of the curtain, forcing him to stand up beside him. He didn’t look Stiles in the eye when he forced Stiles’ arm around his. He merely uttered, “You need to be more careful,” in a slightly annoyed tone.

Stiles cried himself asleep that night. He argued that he was only thirteen, he was allowed to cry. But this summer, he determined it to be different. He wasn’t going to allow Kate Argent to humiliate him. He wasn’t going to let her get the best of him.

It was another ball; another night Stiles detested. He hated how fake everyone appeared as they conversed, trying to gossip more. He waited for the dances to begin, his eyes scanning the people for Derek.

It was customary for them to dance at least once together during the course of the night. Stiles had been practicing since he got home last year—Scott’s feet were thankful for his improvement. He tried to get better, not wanting to step on Derek’s feet as much as he did last summer.

Stiles caught sight of Derek with Kate.

Derek was handsome—he had been handsome since he became a teenager. He made the transition from childhood to teenhood with minor setbacks at first. Descriptors went from adorable to handsome within a fortnight. His brow remained strong and proud, bordering on judgmental now that Stiles thought about it. Last year, a beard had grown in nicely over his cheeks and jaw, leaving him with scruff, only for it to be shaven off once Kate expressed her distaste for facial hair. It greatly disappointed Stiles to see the beard forgotten, knowing that Derek prided himself in how much he looked like his late father when the hair initially started to grow.

Derek was several inches taller than Stiles now, despite their shoulders being equal in their broadness. His height was something that accumulated with his years. Derek was officially of age now, a man of eighteen years and capable of making his own decisions. And as time progressed, it appeared that Derek’s decisions involved Stiles less and less.

Stiles tried to not be visibly upset when he noticed how easily Derek allowed Kate to take his arm. He turned to look elsewhere, not wanting to see them parading around the ballroom before Derek allowed Kate his first dance.

No one dared to ask Stiles for a dance.

Hours passed before Stiles realized that most of the ball had passed, and only a few more dances would transpire. He hadn’t spoken with Derek since they entered the ballroom, Stiles holding onto Derek’s arm, as was custom, as they were announced. Derek hadn’t spoken a word to him since his arrival earlier, offering a noncommittal shrug or soft grunt of disagreement. Stiles simply stopped trying to engage him in conversation.

“Stiles,” Talia greeted him, gaining his attention. “Have you had a good night?”

Stiles smiled at Queen Talia as he straightened himself. “I have, thank you.”

“I noticed you haven’t danced at all,” Talia commented. “Cora told me that you informed her of your improvement in your letters.”

“Oh,” Stiles started, looking down at his feet. He hadn’t improved that much, but had managed to not step on Scott’s feet. “It’s nothing to brag about.”

“Nonsense,” Talia countered with a smile. “You’ve put practice into something, and that’s all that really matters.”

Stiles faintly nodded.

“I’m afraid to have to ask you this,” Talia began, sounding a bit unsure. “But have you seen Derek?”

Stiles looked around the ballroom, not catching sight of Derek _or_ Kate. “He was with Lady Argent, earlier.”

“Ah,” Talia uttered, a look of discontent settling over her features. “If you find him, please tell him I’d like to speak with him.”

“I don’t know where he could be.” _Liar._

“He’s out on the balcony,” Cora piped in from her spot next to Talia.

“Wonderful,” Talia answered with a smile. “Stiles, could you please go ask him to rejoin us? Afterall, these are all his guests as well.”

Stiles dutifully nodded, knowing that there was no way he could get out of it now. He took his time crossing the ballroom, heading for the slightly closed balcony doors. He slipped through the tiny crack, nearly losing himself in the billowing curtain. He was about to step out of the drowning fabric when he heard Derek speak.

“I haven’t seen you alone in a while,” Derek commented.

Stiles foolishly thought, for a moment, that Derek had been talking to him. That childish belief was shattered when he heard the clacking of heels, catching sight of blond curls bouncing over the fabric of an ornate dress. He pushed back into the curtain, afraid that they’d know he was there, hearing their private thoughts.

“You haven’t been alone for a long time,” Kate replied. “You’ve had a shadow these past few weeks.”

“Everything goes topsy-turvy when Stiles is here,” Derek lightly replied.

“Stiles _makes_ everything topsy-turvy,” Kate countered. “Did you see the way he lingered by the dance floor, desperate for someone to ask him to dance?” She released a puff of air, contempt in her voice. “After what happened to your feet last summer, I don’t think anyone would dare to humor him.”

“Kate,” Derek started, his tiredness evident in his tone. “Don’t speak of him like that.”

“Why? Do we stand on airs yet again for him?” Kate demanded.

“It’s not his fault,” Derek faintly argued.

Stiles’ heart swelled, thinking that maybe Derek felt something for him—something besides contempt. But the weakness of Derek’s resilience to fight Kate on it made Stiles’ stomach unravel.

“Not his fault that he interrupts every moment of every day, making it impossible for us to be alone,” Kate cruelly concluded.

“The point of him spending the summers here is to make it easier for us to get closer,” Derek explained. “My mother expects us to spend time together.”

“She expects you to marry the brat, too,” Kate stated from her spot reclining against the balcony railing.

“I don’t have to marry him,” Derek countered, his voice soft and hollow. “When he turns eighteen, he can reject me, and I can reject him.”

“Derek,” Kate incredulously started. “He’s infatuated with you. It’s pathetic how he tails after you.”

“I can’t stop him from following after me, Kate,” Derek countered.

“Just tell him the truth,” Kate offered. “Tell him that it’s embarrassing, for him and you.”

Derek remained silent as he looked down at the garden, his eyes lingering on the maze as he recalled the time he used to play those childish games of hide and seek with Stiles, running through the hedges.

“Unless you actually like it,” Kate suddenly countered Derek’s silence. “Unless you’re actually thinking about accepting him.”

“Don’t be silly,” Derek quickly stated as he looked at Kate.

“You say that, but do you actually expect me to hang around as you keep letting him cozy up to you?” Kate questioned. “I can’t wait forever, Derek.”

“You know I don’t want you to,” Derek explained. “But my family—my mother made this arrangement.”

“Tell her you want out of it,” Kate pushed.

Derek was silent, as if he was giving pause to consider Kate’s words.

The silence was deafening, panicked bile threatening to push its way through Stiles’ throat. He pushed back against the doors, forcing them open as he dared to get away. He noticed the way Kate’s head turned to look towards him. He knew she saw him, forcing him to act quickly. He forced himself to act playfully, as if he didn’t hear anything and just stumbled out onto the balcony.

“Of course,” Kate cruelly spit as she crossed her arms over her chest, eyes carefully watching Stiles as he stood in front of the curtain.

Stiles suddenly felt self conscious as he moved his arms to hold them behind his back. They were the only limbs he could hide from scrutinous eyes.

“Eavesdropping?” Kate sneered.

“Queen Talia is looking for Derek,” Stiles answered, keeping his voice firm and hopefully unchanging as his pulse leapt higher and higher. “She asked me to find him—Cora told me she saw him out here.”

“Right,” Kate uttered, turning her sights on Derek. She noticed how he straightened, leaning away from her some when Stiles appeared. “I’m leaving,” she finally confessed to Derek, pretending that Stiles wasn’t there.

Derek looked surprised by her remark. “The evening is young, you don’t—”

“I’m leaving the palace,” Kate specified. “It’s become evident, to me, that certain people are … more _welcomed_ here than I am.” Her eyes flickered to Stiles briefly, making him want to hide.

“Kate—”

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Kate added, rejecting any rational thought Derek may have tried to argue. “But you can’t expect me to play second and be satisfied.”

Derek looked floored, as if this was not the way he wanted the evening to end.

“I wish things were different,” Kate stated, sounding hurt by the idea of leaving. “But I can’t—I _won’t_ do this, not when even your family despises me.”

“They don’t,” Derek passionately argued, moving forward to hold her.

Stiles felt terribly out of place, as if he was witnessing something he shouldn’t even know was happening. He took an uncertain step backwards, towards the balcony door.

“We have a moment alone together, and your mother sends your _betrothed_ to break it up,” Kate viciously snapped as she backed out of Derek’s reach, an accusatory hand pointing at Stiles. It looked as if tears stained her eyes. “I can’t do this, Derek. I want to be with you, but I can’t do this.”

And with that, Kate was rushing from the balcony, making sure to drive her shoulder into Stiles’, forcing him to stumble to the side.

Stiles was silent as he watched Kate easily move through the ballroom, seeming not to care that a few people were looking at her. He turned his head to look at Derek, wanting to apologize for interrupting. He silenced his attempt when he saw how Derek was glaring a hole into the ground where Kate had been.

“Why are you here?” Derek demanded without looking up at Stiles.

“Your mother—”

“Did she actually send you to find me?” Derek continued. “Did she, or did you take it upon yourself to know where I am at all times?”

“Derek,” Stiles started, trying to catch his breath. His chest felt the same way it did when his mother passed, as if it was constricting and getting smaller. “Your mother did ask.”

“Can’t you leave me alone, for once?” Derek snapped, finally looking up at Stiles. He didn’t wait for Stiles to answer, simply walking passed him and back into the ballroom—after Kate.

Stiles wasn’t sure how long passed, or if time even passed at all, as he exited the balcony to enter the ballroom. He kept his head down, ignoring the looks the other Courtiers were giving him. He pretended that he didn’t feel miserable and out of place.

“Stiles,” Cora snatched Stiles’ hand to stop him from leaving. “Mother found Derek,” she explained as she pulled him. “She said there is enough time for a last dance.”

Stiles looked up at where Derek was standing next to Talia. Derek looked as miserable as Stiles was starting to feel, and his customary annoyed expression settled over his features when he saw Cora pulling Stiles towards him.

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat when he noticed that Talia was speaking to Derek in hushed tones. But he knew she was more than likely chastising him and ordering him to dance the last dance with Stiles, to keep up pretenses that there was _something_ between them.

“I need to find someone,” Derek informed his mother, trying to back away as Stiles came closer.

Stiles didn’t say anything when Talia reacted with a warm greeting and smile.

“See? Stiles is here, no need to fret,” Talia explained, foolishly thinking that Derek possibly meant looking for Stiles.

“I don’t think Prince Derek wishes to dance, your majesty,” Stiles politely started to decline, wanting to pull out of Cora’s grasp.

“Derek,” Talia stated, waiting for him to respond as she turned to look at him.

Derek was silent as he moved to offer his hand to Stiles. “Shall we?”

Stiles foolishly accepted.

The movements were more dizzying than in his room at home with Scott. The room was filled with strange perfumes and chatter, the stink of strong wine beginning to sour. The music was slower, the musicians tired from hours of performing. The candles offered less light now that it had grown late, most of the wax melted away. Dancing with Derek was always nerve-racking, none of the others joining the dance—opting to watch the young princes together.

Stiles allowed Derek to lead, easily maneuvering better than last year. He was happy with how well he was doing without concentrating on his feet. He could hear the whispers, knowing to keep his eyes off of lingering on Derek’s face. He had allowed himself to be obvious in recent weeks, knowing that the Court could see his growing crush.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles dared, not knowing how Derek felt about what had transpired on the balcony. “But I was speaking the truth, your mother sent me.”

“I don’t care,” Derek softly answered, not looking at Stiles.

Stiles nodded, silently agreeing. “Perhaps … perhaps you could send Lady Argent a letter to ask her to understand.”

“What is there to understand?” Derek replied. “That I am forcibly hitched to your saddle whether I want to be or not?”

Stiles wasn’t sure how to answer. “Perhaps you could convince her to talk to you and your mother.” He was prepared to part with Derek, if that was what he wanted. His heart ached, thinking about who would be his new intended should Derek wish to end their decade and a half long engagement.

Derek abruptly stopped the dance, causing Stiles to stumble a bit from the suddenness. He pulled his hands away from Stiles, leaving the younger prince to stand alone.

Stiles felt awkward, as if he was being put on display for all to see as the musicians stopped playing. He could feel the eyes burning into his skin as they watched him.

“Perhaps you could learn to dance better, Prince Meonenim,” Derek coldly answered. “To allow yourself a better dance partner than I for future dances.”

Stiles knew what rejection sounded and looked like, but he never felt it before. And to be feeling it in front of the entire Hale Court was more than embarrassing. It was devastating.

“Perhaps you could improve dancing, Prince Derek,” Stiles finally uttered, his embarrassment turning to anger. “With such clumsy feet, I don’t see how you managed all these years.” And with that, Stiles stamped on Derek’s foot as hard as he could.

Cora snorted loudly with laughter when Derek suppressed his noise of pain, only being put out of mind when Peter moved to hide her behind him.

Stiles didn’t wait for a response, quickly exiting the ballroom. He didn’t care about the arrangement. He didn’t care about what he thought he once felt for Derek Hale. He didn’t care that it felt like his heart was breaking with every step, knowing that he was unlikely to see Derek or the Hales again.

He was done trying to be the perfect image of what a prince should want for a spouse. He wanted someone to love him for who he was, not for who he could pretend to be.

~*~

“I don’t know what you did, but you fix it, Derek,” Talia instructed once she was alone with Derek in her study.

“For once in my life, I want to be left alone to make my own decisions. And Stiles is not my decision,” Derek harshly stated as he moved to leave the room.

“Derek,” Talia hissed in reprimand. “Don’t you _dare_ walk away from me like this. You are acting childishly,” she stated. “How dare you start making flippant demands—”

“They aren’t flippant!” Derek snapped as he turned back to look at his mother. “I have done everything that you have ever asked me to do. I have worked tirelessly to please you by entertaining Prince Meonenim. But I am done. I’m eighteen, mother, and I will not partake in this any longer.”

“The agreement was until Stiles turned eighteen,” Talia countered.

“And it was an agreement I never made,” Derek argued.

“Have you no thought of how Stiles will feel if you do this?” Talia softly questioned.

“Did you not think how either of us would feel if one of us didn’t want to enter into this marriage?” Derek questioned in turn. “Neither you nor his parents thought about what that might cause.”

“Derek—”

“I’m marrying Kate, mother,” Derek finally stated. “I came here to tell you that.”

“Then you tell Stiles,” Talia stated. “I will not be the one to tell him for you. If you want to marry her and have it recognized by this kingdom, then you go and explain it all to Stiles.”

Derek turned from Talia, knowing she was correct, that he had to tell him—to apologize for earlier. He reluctantly nodded, accepting his mother’s terms.

Stiles was packing when Derek’s knock on the door interrupted him.

Derek patiently stood outside the door, waiting for the younger prince to answer his knock. He heard footsteps before they halted right before the door. A faint sniffling sounded before the sound of fabric rustling—Stiles was wiping his tears away.

Stiles opened the door, the motion of his arm stuttering a bit when he saw that it was Derek. He looked down before turning away from the older prince. He moved back to his small trunk, fitting his clothes into it. He hadn’t brought much, knowing that he was likely to go home early—he wanted to laugh at himself for knowing the truth. He busied himself with folding his clothes as he waited for Derek to speak his peace before departing.

Derek saw the red circles rimming around Stiles’ eyes from crying, as well as the puffiness of his nose. He knew Stiles was upset about earlier, but it was a childhood crush he had developed for Derek, nothing more—like Kate had said it was, time and time again.

“I’m sorry,” Derek bluntly stated, unsure how to continue.

“It was my fault,” Stiles softly replied, his fingers trembling as he tried to fix his clothes so they wouldn’t be wrinkled. “I stepped on your foot on purpose, remember?”

“I didn’t mean for the dance,” Derek corrected.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Stiles said as he smoothed his hands over the material of the folded clothes. “I allowed myself to be attached to you when it was clearly unwelcomed.”

“Stiles—”

“Please, don’t,” Stiles barely uttered. “I’d rather you not tell me all the ways you tried to show me that you detested the idea of being stuck with me.”

Derek remained silent as he watched Stiles take a series of breaths, allowing him the chance to speak his peace.

Stiles released a weak, bitter laugh. “You always said that I was nothing but a child, and I guess in ways … that was true. We only saw each other for a few months every year—if we were fortunate enough to suffer so little. I revered you because you were older—so much more accomplished than anyone else I knew. You mesmerize me at every turn, and it made me feel incredibly special every time you even looked at me. And for a time, I thought you were mine. And I was foolish for thinking that a person could belong to someone else like that.” He shook his head. “I never took your feelings into account. I never thought about what you must feel to be attached to someone as unaccomplished and young as me—someone so beneath you.”

Stiles placed his last article of clothing in the trunk before slowly snapping it shut. He fastened the straps, staring at his family’s crest on the top. He wondered if he did marry someone else, if he was going to be allowed to keep his crest—Talia had always said she wanted to combine the Stilinski and Hale crests into a new one; a dream that would never be realized. He thought about the Hale and Argent crests, thinking about how they would look combined together.

“But Kate is very accomplished,” Stiles softly continued. “She’s poised, and beautiful. And clearly has caught your favor.” He reached a hand up, his fingertips gently playing with the locket around his neck.

“I guess I’ve learned something.” Stiles turned to look at Derek for the first time. Tears brimmed around the edges of his eyes, waiting for Stiles to blink and release them. “You’re the child now.” He took a breath before firmly stating, “And I hope she breaks your heart.”

A soft knock on the door interrupted the silence that stretched on between them.

“Come in,” Stiles beckoned, turning away from Derek, knowing that there was nothing left to say between them.

“Prince Stiles,” Peter courteously answered as he opened the door. “Ah, Derek, you’re here as well.” He stated it as if he didn’t already know that this is where he would find Derek.

“What do you want, uncle?” Derek almost snapped, still trying to process Stiles’ words.

“Contrary to your belief, nephew, the world does not revolve around you,” Peter answered. “I’ve come to escort our darling visiting prince to the docks.”

Derek turned to look at Stiles, a look of bewilderment covering his features. “You’re leaving tonight?”

“Your mother was kind enough to give us previsions for the voyage home,” Stiles answered, turning to look at his trunk. “My father will be glad to see me.”

“You’re supposed to stay at least another fortnight,” Derek countered.

“Given the circumstances, I believe the young prince is allowed a leave of absence,” Peter interrupted. He passed Derek, offering to take the trunk from Stiles.

Stiles nodded, grateful that Peter was offering to take the heavy luggage for him. He waited for Peter to depart before looking at Derek. His fingers played with the locket once more, wondering if he was supposed to return the gift with the dissolvement of their established engagement. He decided to be selfish and keep the locket—a memento of his time spent with the Hales. He moved forward, pausing by Derek in order to courteously bow.

“Goodbye, Prince Derek,” Stiles sorrowfully uttered in parting. He looked at Derek as he raised from his bow. He offered a faint, sad smile before turning away and walking out of Derek’s life.

Once in the hallway, Peter wordlessly offered his handkerchief to Stiles, not at all surprised when he refused it.

Stiles was grateful that Peter was silent for most of their ride towards the docks. He focused on the mane of his horse, gently threading his fingers through the hair as he recalled the times Derek had helped lift him onto the horses whenever they would partake in evening rides with the rest of the Courtiers and their families. He even recalled how gentle Derek had been after Stiles’ horse had thrown him from the saddle, a snake startling the animal into rearing back on an unsuspecting Stiles. He was more embarrassed than hurt, hearing the other Courtiers barely suppress their laughter at the sight of Stiles on the ground covered in grass stains.

Derek was the one to ride back to the palace with Stiles, arms secured around the younger prince as he gripped the reins. He still entertained the idea that he was to marry Stiles, then, acting as a spouse should when the other was injured.

“A gold Sovereign for your thoughts,” Peter interrupted Stiles’ thoughts.

Stiles turned his head to look at Peter, realizing that they were almost to the docks. He had lost himself in memories of childhood hopes and dreams of a future that wasn’t to be. He frowned some, catching sight of the guardsmen and wagon far ahead of them.

“Why did the Queen send you with me?” Stiles finally questioned.

“An apology for a slight,” Peter explained as he followed Stiles’ gaze to the wagon.

“The slight was not hers or the kingdom’s,” Stiles corrected. “There’s no blame.”

“That sentiment feels hollow,” Peter observed, steering his horse towards the side as a night patrol passed them.

“It wasn’t meant to,” Stiles informed him.

“It feels like your heart is breaking,” Peter suddenly offered, answering Stiles’ melancholy. He offered a small smile when the young prince looked at him. “I was young and in love once—just like you.”

“I hardly imagine you were ever like me,” Stiles countered.

“On the contrary,” Peter started. “I was far worse off than you. I was a menace to the Court; my tutors feared me; and my conversational skills with others I found attractive were less than desirable.”

“You were an outcast,” Stiles skeptically concluded.

“I was an outcast that they had no choice but to include,” Peter corrected him. “My family and title brought wealth and power to anyone I called my own.” There was a faint twinkle in Peter’s eye as he recalled the night he laid eyes on his dearly departed wife. “I fell in love with someone far beyond the station of a wretch like me.”

“Did you marry them?” Stiles curiously questioned, never given details about Peter’s life.

“Being the second child afforded me the luxury of marrying for love,” Peter explained.

“And you took that luxury,” Stiles concluded.

“I took that luxury,” Peter thoughtfully answered as he turned to look at the ship, unwilling to look at another person as his thoughts lingered on his wife. “As I said, she was far better than me, in more ways than one. Her parents only allowed it because of my name—the wealth and power it brought them was more favorable than the type of man they thought me to be.”

“What happened to her?” Stiles softly asked.

“She died,” Peter simply stated. “In childbirth—her and the baby.” He offered a sad smile to Stiles to try and prevent him from feeling guilty for asking. “Needless to say, her parents blamed me.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles replied with condolences.

“It is what it is,” Peter answered.

“That doesn’t mean it is right,” Stiles countered.

“No, it doesn’t,” Peter agreed.

It wasn’t until they reached the docks, Peter obediently parting with his duty to escort Stiles when the Captain of the Stilinski guard greeted them, that Peter finally broached the subject of Stiles’ departure.

“The truth,” Peter started stopping Stiles from climbing the ramp up onto the ship. “Is that we are foolish creatures, who choose to love when we could do without such pain and hardship. That’s why we often want to run away from it all—out of sight, out of mind.”

“And foolish creatures do not live long in this world,” Stiles finished.

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” Peter argued. “I would imagine quite the opposite, actually. Once a creature survives what they feel like is the end, they grow more resilient—stronger in their knowledge that they are still a thriving creature. A broken heart doesn’t mean the end.”

“Don’t tell me you’re to give me hope,” Stiles rebutted.

“I lost my wife before your initial name day,” Peter suddenly stated. “It’s been nearly fourteen years, and I have yet to find a person that makes my heart quicken as she did.” A fond smile pulled at his lips. “We all find a one of a kind in this world, and it’s hard to let go once we know we’ve found it.”

Stiles frowned, nibbling his lip a little. “Will it ever go away? This … loss.”

Peter’s small smile turned sadder, a reflection of memories long forgotten being dwelled on. “No,” he truthfully answered. “It changes—gets easier with time. But it never truly leaves us.”

Stiles realized that Peter was an anomaly, one that he would never have the pleasure of cracking now that his engagement with Derek was nearly dissolved.

“I think I shall regret not coming to call you family,” Stiles confessed. “I think we could have done some great things when it comes to pompous Courtiers.”

“There’s still time, Prince Stiles,” Peter answered. “Summer infatuations like these often run their course. I only ask that you are somewhat gentle in your recourse against my nephew.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing! I just really hope you guys are keeping an open mind about all this. Derek isn't a bad guy, he's 18 and just wants to make his own decisions in life. Also, suspension of disbelief, people.
> 
> But anyways, here is the awaited update! Enjoy!

Derek’s summer infatuation with Kate did not dwindle as Peter had hinted.

Stiles heard the gossiping and rumors spreading that there was a reason for Derek to snub Stiles in such a way—that there must have been an abnormality with Stiles. His correspondences with Cora dwindled as the months passed, leaving him wanting for knowledge about the Hales. But he never dared to ask Cora, knowing that she may say something to Laura—or worse, Derek. He was fifteen when he saw Derek again.

The Hales, as always, were invited to the Stilinski kingdom whenever the summer festival was held. Usually, Derek was always in attendance, but it was to be the first year he wasn’t present as Stiles’ guest of honor.

A strange hush overcame the Courtiers when the Hale family was announced. Shock, bewilderment, anger, rage. Some of the Courtiers were furious with the Hales for breaking the arrangement between Stiles and Derek, publicly humiliating Stiles with the rejection. Others were overjoyed, thinking that it created an opportunity to ally their family with the Stilinskis.

Stiles felt his heart leap when he heard Derek’s name be announced by the herald. A wave of relief washed over him when Kate was not announced in attendance. It appeared to be only Derek and Peter who accepted the invitation—two more Hales than Stiles expected to attend.

Scott moved closer to Stiles, trying to comfort him without being obvious. “I could challenge him to a duel.”

Stiles fondly shook his head at the thought that Scott would willingly risk his own life for his honor. “He’d kill you in four moves.”

“At least I’d die with honor,” Scott offered as a consideration.

“Thanks,” Stiles answered as he turned to look at Scott. “But I’d prefer you live.”

“Yeah, me too,” Scott concurred.

Stiles was unable to avoid both Hales, running into Peter near the dance floor. He was surprised by Peter’s request to dance. He took the opportunity to dance with him, knowing that there would be more scandal in such an acceptance than Derek breaking their arranged engagement.

“You’ve improved,” Peter commented as they moved through the steps.

“I have a lot of offers to dance when in Beacon,” Stiles explained, his eyes sometimes falling to the ground to inspect his feet.

“Derek asked to come,” Peter finally stated to answer Stiles’ silent question. “My sister told him no, but the boy asked to apologize to you and your father.”

“As I told you before, there is nothing to apologize for,” Stiles answered.

“When we’re young, we think we know exactly what we want out of life,” Peter started, turning Stiles into the next series of steps. “I fear Derek spoke too soon, and harmed his chances of ever finding the truth.”

“And that would be?” Stiles questioned.

“That the idea of marrying Kate Argent seems to be his choice, when in fact he’s playing into her hand,” Peter simply answered.

Stiles looked up at Peter in surprise. “Why don’t you tell him?”

“He’s discovered it on his own,” Peter replied.

“Why did you come?” Stiles suspiciously asked.

“Because my nephew realized that he threw something valuable away,” Peter replied. “Your friendship has meant more to our family than you could possibly realize.”

“He shouldn’t ask me for forgiveness,” Stiles stated. He didn’t want to be put in that position.

“He doesn’t want forgiveness,” Peter corrected Stiles. “He wants to apologize.”

“Derek Hale? Apologize?” Stiles questioned in skepticism.

Peter released a slight chuckle. “My nephew isn’t one for words. But he knows that what he did was wrong, and wishes to make amends—at least to make sure you’re well.”

The music slowed, their dance ending. Peter bowed to Stiles before taking his hand once more, moving to stand closer to him. He leaned in close to Stiles’ ear as he spoke. “Now that they will be bustling with questions as to what we’re talking so intimately about, I’ll leave you be.”

Stiles couldn’t help smiling when Peter parted from him, knowing that word of his supposed affair with Peter Hale would be making rounds the following morning, at the earliest. He moved to avoid being cornered into a conversation with any of the Courtiers, strategically moving about the gardens. He lingered by the fountain, taking a seat to rest before rejoining the party. He knew it was a mistake, knowing he should have stood and departed once he heard the approaching footsteps.

“Stiles,” Derek’s familiar voice spoke in pleasant surprise at discovering the younger prince.

“Prince Derek,” Stiles answered, turning to face him.

A small silence grew between them, the only thing they could both muster.

“Are you well?” Derek finally asked, his voice unsteady as he struggled to find something to talk about.

“As well as can be expected,” Stiles answered, offering him a polite smile.

“Stiles,” Derek softly started. “We never fully talked about—”

“Please don’t,” Stiles abruptly stated. “I would prefer not to. What’s done is done. It’s senseless to dig it back up again.”

“We never buried it,” Derek stubbornly replied.

“Perhaps you haven’t, but I have,” Stiles countered. “I am content in leaving it where it ended—for my own sake if need be.”

“I feel terrible for how things ended,” Derek attempted to begin an apology.

“Then perhaps you should find a hobby to make you feel better,” Stiles firmly answered. “Be a man of the people. Show those in need your generosity, for your affections would be lost on me.”

“Stiles, I know that I expressed hesitance in marrying you—”

“Hesitance?” Stiles almost snapped as he turned to look at Derek. “ _Hesitance_ would be asking for a marriage date to be set a decade or more from now. _Hesitance_ would be nervousness over how embarrassing I can be. What you expressed was not _hesitance_ Derek, but a desire to sever all intentions because of _inadequacy_.”

“I _never_ said you were inadequate in any way,” Derek passionately argued. “And I _never_ wanted to sever our relationship.”

“What _relationship_?” Stiles angrily demanded. “The romantic relationship I thought I was trying to build between us, or the platonic one you half-heartedly wanted as you chased after Kate Argent.”

Derek looked away from Stiles, knowing that he spoke the truth. “I didn’t want you gone from my life,” he finally admitted.

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” Stiles answered. “It’s easier for me this way.”

“Your letters to Cora have almost ceased entirely,” Derek suddenly stated. “She was beyond worried that you hated her as much as you hate me.”

“I don’t hate anyone,” Stiles countered, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I know I don’t deserve anything from you, but I’m asking you to please not cut my family off from you,” Derek finally pleaded. “They adore you, and it’s not fair to them—I’m the one that messed up.”

Stiles’ eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“I believed lies whispered to me through honey words,” Derek vaguely explained, his pride still blocking him from admitting the whole truth. “I’ve tried to fix things. But that’s not my reason for coming here,” he looked up at Stiles, releasing a deep sigh. “I wanted to see how you are.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles answered, a numbness falling over his body.

Derek opened his mouth to speak before reluctantly closing it, offering a faint nod instead. “I’ll leave you be, then.” He bowed to Stiles, still desirous of staying longer and trying to prove his erroneous actions were completely fool hearted, and how dearly he regretted parting from Stiles without explaining himself.

Kate wanted Derek, and he knew that. He knew Kate wanted him from the moment they met—she was older, and knew what she wanted without listening to her parents. There was something about Kate that lured Derek away from his thoughts of being with Stiles. He didn’t want to be the settled option Stiles seemed resigned to have. He didn’t want them to marry for obligation.

Derek knew Stiles looked at him differently at times. He caught him looking a few times, but he mostly heard the gossip about how Stiles’ gaze would linger on him. He had convinced himself it was childhood fascination—“the silly crush of a child,” is what Kate had called it.

A marriage to Stiles would complicate both their lives, or so Derek was lead to believe. Two kingdoms being forced together to work as one, a political match made to construct great profit from. It scared Derek to think that he and Stiles would one day be placed in charge of expanding their kingdoms unification.

Derek played himself into Kate’s palm, and he was starting to see that. Stiles’ hurt words last summer, the night he left, made Derek reevaluate it all. He delayed his marriage to Kate, despite her protests and threats to break the engagement.

“Good night … Derek,” Stiles softly answered with a bow of his own.

That was the last night Stiles saw Derek for that year. He heard rumors of the Hale kingdom being in shambles, how there was unrest brewing thanks to the Argents and their past affiliations. The kingdom didn’t want to have their royals attached to the Argents in any way, and it became clear that it was likely not to happen now.

Cora wrote Stiles a week before the incident happened. She confessed to Stiles that she longed for simpler times, when Kate wasn’t around the palace. She wished for Stiles to visit soon, asking him if he intended to visit the coming summer.

Stiles took Derek’s words to heart, recalling how he expressed that Cora longed to hear from him. He answered in his letter that he would visit if she wanted him to. It felt right to send the letter with the courier, a small weight lifted from Stiles’ chest.

The courier returned with ill news. The Hale palace had been burned, nearly razed to the ground. Some wings of the palace survived, but there were casualties.

It was never proven, but blame had been placed at Kate Argent’s feet, especially when it was discovered that she departed before the fire broke out. Some of the kingdom put blame on Derek’s shoulders, but no one spoke of it, especially to his face.

Months passed before Queen Talia’s funeral was held.

Stiles stood beside his father in the crowded church as the funerary proceedings began. The entire Hale Court was present, along with key diplomats from other kingdoms.

Stiles caught sight of Laura and Cora near the front. Laura was leaning against her husband, trying to contain her tears as she watched the archdeacon start the procession. Cora held onto Peter’s arm, allowing her tears to freely flow.

It was Derek who stood off by the side, isolating himself from everyone—from his family. He was barely visible from his spot hidden in the shadows by the archdeacon. Stiles was almost certain no one else caught sight of Derek’s hiding spot.

Stiles slipped out of line as the others started to file out of the church, following the procession out to the royal crypt. He moved to follow after Derek, not wanting to risk not seeing him at the gathering that night.

“Derek,” Stiles called when he caught sight of him near the end of the hallway. He knew Derek heard him when he stopped walking. He slowed to a halt once he was closer to him.

A silence drew out between them. Derek refused to speak as Stiles pondered what to say.

“You’re hiding,” Stiles finally uttered, staring at Derek’s back.

“Observant,” Derek softly replied. “Considering you’re the only person who seemed to noticed, I’d say I was successful.”

“You’d have been successful if I hadn’t noticed,” Stiles countered. “Will you not be present tonight?”

Derek allowed the silence to answer Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles started as he moved forward, reaching a hand out to touch Derek’s arm.

Derek practically leapt forward the moment Stiles’ fingertips grazed his jacket, moving out of Stiles’ reach. A sharp intake of breath followed by Derek moving to lean against the wall for support was the only indication Stiles needed to realize that something was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles immediately apologized, trying to not touch Derek as he moved to the side to see Derek’s face.

That was when Stiles saw the reason for Derek’s recoiling.

Even with the high collar of Derek’s shirt and jacket, Stiles could see the burns running along his neck and up to his jaw. Derek’s facial hair had started to grow back, no doubt a necessity now that he would be unable to shave until the burn completely healed. The burn wasn’t as severe as what Stiles assumed would be a serious wound on Derek’s arm—the reason Derek reared away from his touch.

“You have your answer,” Derek lowly stated, not looking at Stiles as he straightened some. “Deaton ordered me to stay in my room for fear that I wouldn’t heal properly. But … ”

“But then you wouldn’t be able to say goodbye,” Stiles finished, knowing how it felt to part from his mother. The royal crypts were rarely opened, even for family, keeping the bodies preserved and safely hidden from the living.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell them you saw me,” Derek stated, turning away from Stiles—refusing to allow Stiles a prolonged look at his face.

“Derek, you should come to the gathering,” Stiles stated. “She’s your mother, and you deserve to be there.”

“I don’t,” Derek firmly argued, pushing away from the wall to leave. “It was my mistake that cost her her life.”

Stiles was silent as he stared at Derek’s back, unable to think of a way to make the older prince look at him. “Kate,” he uttered, knowing that Derek blamed himself for the fire, but everyone knew the true culprit. “Then, the rumors are true?”

Derek faintly nodded his head. “She didn’t break my heart, but she broke my world.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles partially whispered, not knowing how to apologize for cursing Derek to such a fate.

“Don’t pity me,” Derek softly countered. “And please don’t think you should feel guilty—for any of this. I’m to blame.”

“Derek—”

“I’m the sorry one, Stiles. For everything.”

Without another word, Derek disappeared back into the inner palace—the small section of the royal residence that had been unharmed by the flames.

~*~

Stiles spent the gathering staring off at the palace, wondering what Derek was doing cooped up inside. He knew Derek was more than likely brooding, blaming himself for what happened, and he didn’t like it. He wanted Derek to know that people didn’t blame him—that he was still loved.

“He won’t come, you know?” Cora’s voice interrupted Stiles’ thoughts.

Stiles looked back at Cora, allowing his thoughts of Derek to fade to the background. “I can hope,” he answered.

“He doesn’t talk with anyone—refuses to linger longer than necessary,” Cora explained, looking up to where Stiles gaze had been focused.

“He doesn’t talk to anyone about what happened?” Stiles questioned in concern.

“Deaton said it could have the opposite effect. Instead of helping, it could make Derek worse,” Cora replied. “He ran back inside to get mother out when he realized what had happened. Instead, Derek ended up dragging Peter out, burns covering them both. Except Derek’s … ”

“Derek’s are more noticeable,” Stiles finished for her. “I caught a small glimpse of them earlier,” he offered in explanation when Cora looked at him in question.

“It’s hard to forgive yourself when the reminder is staring you in the face every time you look in a mirror,” Cora melancholically replied.

“Has anyone made it a point to talk to him, though?” Stiles pressed. “He’s always been stoic, and now he’s a walking shell of self inflicted guilt.”

“Why do you care?” Cora finally asked, turning to look at Stiles. “You’ve always hated each other.”

“No, we haven’t,” Stiles countered, looking down at his hands as he pondered Cora’s words.

“You bicker constantly,” Cora stated, picking up handfuls of her skirt in order to move without tripping, taking a seat next to Stiles. “Derek ridiculed your age—”

“He’s only four years older than me, I don’t know why everyone acts like it’s such a big deal,” Stiles reminded her.

“Because _he_ acted like it was such a big deal,” Cora explained. “He was paranoid of taking away your choice—being seen as a manipulator or something.”

“And now that I’m sixteen, I still don’t know what I want, even though he was old enough to make up his mind about life?” Stiles questioned.

“Derek was eighteen when he made his decision to marry Kate and break your arrangement,” Cora corrected Stiles with a soft sigh. “And look what happened with that.”

“Have you spoken with him?” Stiles asked, turning his head to observe Cora’s profile. “Since the fire, I mean.”

Cora turned to look at Stiles, carefully taking him in. “Have you?”

“And what if I have?” Stiles questioned.

“Doesn’t matter,” Cora ignored Stiles’ question. “As I said before, he won’t come down.”

“Because of the burns? Or the guilt?” Stiles pressed.

“Both,” Cora stiffly replied.

“He shouldn’t be alone,” Stiles commented. “None of you should be.”

“Why do you care?” Cora snapped as she turned to face Stiles. “You stopped caring, remember? You stopped updating us on your life—we stopped being important the moment Derek stopped courting you.”

Stiles stared at Cora, knowing that there was much validation to her hurt. “I never stopped caring about you,” he answered. “It was easier for me to heal the less I heard about everything. I never intended anyone to be hurt by that.”

“None of us intended for anyone to get hurt,” Cora replied, turning her gaze to look at the large stained glass windows of the palace wing. Her eyes scanned them, looking for a sign of Derek. “And yet, here we are.”

Stiles weakly nodded, knowing Cora was right. “It’s hard to think about how to fix it all.”

“Sometimes there are things you can’t fix,” Cora answered. “I just hope Derek can handle the coming months.”

“What’s going to happen?” Stiles had no illusions about the Hales being given a moment’s rest now that the reigning King and Queen were both dead—the Queen murdered by someone she was willing to accept into her family.

The coming months would be trying, for the family and kingdom. There would be a number of matters to attend to, including crushing attempts of usurpation, scandal, and the question of who would rule. Laura passed her right as heir apparent when she married the neighboring kingdom’s crown prince. Naturally, Derek was next in line, but with his assumed engagement to Stiles, his right of heir apparent passed to Cora.

But when Derek no longer intended to wed Stiles, his claim to the throne was placed back into play. It was the main reason there had been so much turmoil in the Hale kingdom prior to the fire. Some thought Derek was cheating Cora of her right, others thought Derek wasn’t fit to rule when he couldn’t tame his own infatuations.

“Will Derek step down?” Stiles finally asked out of curiosity.

“Peter will be named the King Regent until the decision is made,” Cora answered looking down as she played with the various folds of her dress. “The Council is split down the middle with what to do with Derek, and I fear they are going to throw him out, in light of his involvement.”

Stiles bristled. “Derek’s _involvement_ was his limited intent to marry Kate, that’s all.”

“That’s not what the Council believes,” Cora corrected him. “Derek was with Kate more than anyone else. He spent his afternoons with her, and some servants have given testimony about seeing Kate leaving Derek’s bed chambers in the early hours of the morning.”

“Kate Argent weaseled her way into your family’s good graces by preying on a teenager who felt trapped in his own life,” Stiles furiously stated. “You think she couldn’t pay or threaten a few people into saying whatever it is they needed to say?”

“I’m not saying I like this, Stiles,” Cora nearly hissed as she whipped her head to look at him. “I’m telling you what is happening to my family. The Council doesn’t want Derek on the throne, and Peter is trying to find a way to change their minds about banishment.” She shook her head, glaring at the ground by her feet. “Unless Derek finds someone of stature to marry, the Council will go through with its plan and get rid of him, whatever means necessary.”

“But he’s still their prince,” Stiles vehemently argued.

“They have three Hales left,” Cora tiredly countered, as if she had this conversation too many times already. “Peter can’t rule because he’s mother’s brother, not father’s. Derek is technically next since Laura married into a line for a different throne. But if they want to get rid of of Derek, they could twist my arm into sitting on the throne, or even Laura’s second born.”

“Samuel is barely one,” Stiles incredulously commented. He recalled seeing the twins when they were first born, smiling when his father noted how similar they looked to Derek and Laura when they had been presented on their name days. Samuel had been born second, like Derek. A minute apart in birth, and already their fates had been decided for them. It saddened Stiles to think of it that way.

“Which means Laura would be Queen Mother and Queen Regent,” Cora ended. “None of us care what happens, as long as Derek is spared the Council’s anger.”

“Derek would have to marry someone in line for their own throne, or already sitting on one,” Stiles replied.

“The Council has already chosen someone for him,” Cora weakly stated. “Do you recalled Countess Blake, a descendant of the Druids in the North?”

Stiles knew of her.

Stiles, in all his years of study and research, never once saw the actual contents of what it meant to practice the Forbidden Arts. It was taboo in nearly the entirety of the known world. But Countess Blake had been accused of committing vile acts with the magic she obtained through meticulous studying, all for her own personal gain. Stiles’ father had cast her out from their kingdom when word of her plot to seize power started to circulate.

Queen Kali, a fierce ruler and formidable opponent on the battlefield, had offered Countess Blake sanctuary in her own kingdom—and bed. But Countess Blake was a jealous woman who disliked the way Queen Kali often stumbled into the arms of lovers other than her.

The rumor was that Countess Blake had enchanted Kali to marry her, casting a strong love spell that forced Kali to care and obsess over just her.

“She’s a vile witch,” Stiles finally uttered.

“She’s a Queen now,” Cora replied. “And Queen Kali has officially been announced as dead. She went missing months ago, no one being able to discover a trace of evidence about her whereabouts.”

“They stopped looking for their Queen?” Stiles asked with skepticism.

“They have a Queen they are devoted to,” Cora answered. “And she is just as horrible as the rumors foretold.”

“You’ve met her?” Stiles asked.

“She’s here for the Council meeting,” Core explained. “She’ll be here for when the Council give Derek their proposal.”

Realization dawned on Stiles. “They want to ship Derek off to marry _her_?”

“She’s the only person that would consider making an offer for his hand,” Cora sadly concluded. “His burns … they make people pull away from him, thinking they are a reminder of his failure. And with the wounds healing … Deaton doesn’t believe that Derek will be able to fight as he used to, either. Many suitors have turned away.”

“There is more to Derek than just his physical feats,” Stiles sourly stated. “And to ship him off when he’s still wounded—physically and mentally—is just barbaric.”

“It’s the only chance we have.” Cora suddenly produced her handkerchief, pressing her face into it as she started to break down. “I don’t want to lose my brother, Stiles. I’ve already lost my parents, and I can’t lose Derek, too.”

Stiles slid across the bench, wrapping his arm around Cora’s shoulders as he held her tight. He placed a soothing hand on the back of her head when she started to cry into his shoulder. He knew her fears were great, Cora always priding herself in remaining stoic in the presence of others.

Crying wasn’t a weakness, it had taken Stiles years to figure that out. They were creatures still capable of living—of thriving with the reminder that though the worst has come, there is still hope.

Stiles just hoped he was right in thinking that.

~*~

 

"Stiles, you know you don't have to do this," the King stated once more.

"I know," Stiles replied. "But it's a smart political arrangement."

"Stiles," the King sighed. "That may have been what Talia and I were thinking, but your mother and I ... we made your arrangement with Derek in hopes that you would find a companion in one another. We wanted you to find a happiness not ... not any of this."

"Dad," Stiles started, turning to look at him. "It's what I want. If Derek accepts, for his own reasons, I'll be happy."

“You’re sure?” The King asked Stiles once more.

“Yes,” Stiles answered, his eyes moving to linger on Countess Blake—Jennifer. He had detested the way she made her intentions known, without Derek even in the room.

Derek was an object now, something for the Council to get rid of through gifting him away or, if necessary, disposing of him.

It had been only a few weeks since the funerals of the King and Queen, and the Council was finally ready to give their decision on Derek’s fate.

When Derek entered the room, it felt as if a criminal was being escorted in instead of a prince. He let his head hang as he walked passed several of the diplomats, men and women invited to report back to their kings and queens that the Triskelian Council had done its part to punish those responsible. He concentrated on the ground before him, aware of the way eyes lingered on the side of his face.

In the weeks since Stiles had laid eyes on Derek at the funeral procession, the burns had nearly healed completely and turned into pinkish scars. Derek’s beard had grown with the passing days, to a length that almost hid the scars from sight.

“Prince Derek,” one of the Councilmen started, acknowledging his title instead of the fact that they were about to turn their back on him. “It has been, in the best interest of this Council and the people of Triskelia, that we proceed with the intent of Princess Cora assuming her previous role as heir apparent.”

Cora tensed in her seat, knowing what was to happen next.

“We do not wish to cut you from your family name forever,” the Councilman continued. “We have taken into account your limited involvement with the tragedy that has befallen us all. However, we have decided that your place would best serve us all in the Kingdom of Nemeta.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed, displeased with the news. “I believe exile would be a more fitting punishment if the Council has decided to not take any disciplinary action against me.”

“Prince Derek,” a Councilwoman started. “We do not wish to be rid of you. We merely want to guarantee that Triskelia is placed within the right hands.”

“I am not against abdication,” Derek offered instead. “A life of privileged living is not a form of punishment, especially for what has happened.”

“There is no need for something so drastic,” Countess Blake started as she looked from Derek to the Council. She was waiting for them to firmly imply that Derek didn’t have a choice but to choose a life with Jennifer’s claws sunk into him.

“Queen Jennifer, formerly Countess Blake, has extended Nemeta’s hand to Triskelia and you, in our time of need,” another Councilman stated.

Derek’s features soured as he looked at Jennifer, noting her small smile at the silent victory she was about to win. Derek would be nothing but a symbol of her power and her ability to obtain such a prized possession.

“With respect to the Council,” Stiles’ father began, easily catching everyone’s attention as he stood to address them. “I believe the prince’s fate still remains, purely, in his own hands.”

“Prince Derek has been given his options,” Jennifer answered, trying to keep the King from speaking further about the matter.

“The arrangement made between Derek’s mother and I still stands,” the King simply stated, ignoring Jennifer. “As you well remember, Stiles is my only heir, meaning that he will inherit my throne, none other. As was intended to happen before, Derek would then be in line for a different throne, eliminating his claim on Triskelia’s throne. Cora would be free to rule, unhindered.”

“Prince Derek expressed a disagreement in the degree of … discipline, with these options,” a Councilwoman stated.

“Derek would come to live in our kingdom, across the great sea,” the King offered. “I believe being that far from home, in a foreign place, is punishment enough for anyone.”

The room grew silent, all members reflecting on the proposed arrangement. Everyone knew that the best outcome would be to renew the arrangement between Stiles and Derek, even if Derek’s marriage to Jennifer would produce some sort of new alliance. There were no guarantees, though, that Nemeta would honor any form of alliance.

“Does his highness agree to this new proposal?” The first Councilman questioned as they looked to Derek.

All turned their eyes to Derek.

Derek was staring at the ground, his lips forced into a firm line as he came to grips with the reality of his situation. He finally nodded in acceptance, backing away from the Council as he made his decision to leave, without a word to anyone.

Stiles wasn’t expecting Derek to jump for joy. And he wasn’t expecting him to just roll over. But to have Derek furiously ripping him from the hallway and into the library that evening was not a reaction Stiles calculated into the list of possible outcomes.

Stiles released an embarrassingly faint squawk when Derek shoved him against one of the library’s numerous shelves. He allowed Derek to crowd into his space with a hand planted firmly on his chest.

Derek may have been twenty, but now that Stiles was sixteen, he too managed to grow in height. They were roughly the same now, and though Derek appeared bigger than Stiles, their shoulders shared the same broadness. He still managed to terrifyingly loom over Stiles.

“I didn’t ask for your charity, or your pity,” Derek bit out as he glared at Stiles.

“Funny how you keep finding new ways to belittle the idea of marrying me,” Stiles snapped back.

“This isn’t a joke, Stiles!” Derek answered, anger lighting up his eyes. “I was fine being assigned to another royal as their plaything.”

“Then why did you look utterly miserable whenever Jennifer’s eyes lingered on you?” Stiles demanded to know.

“You know nothing,” Derek huffed, turning his head away from Stiles.

“You’re right,” Stiles agreed with an annoyed laugh. “I know nothing because you never once deemed me worthy of hearing anything from you. But you deemed Kate worthy.”

“Shut up,” Derek growled.

“Why won’t you let me in?” Stiles snapped, his hands moving to Derek’s chest to push him back. He managed to push the older man away with little trouble, recalling how Cora mentioned that Derek’s range of motion was limited now thanks to the way the scars healed. “What have I ever done to you to make you hate me?”

“I’ve never hated you,” Derek quickly corrected him. “But I never chose you, and you never chose me. I tried to tell you that last year.”

“I chose to try, Derek,” Stiles explained. “That’s all I ever wanted—a chance to try and get to know one another. Just because our marriage would result in a political union, doesn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy each other’s company.”

“Last year,” Derek started, keeping his gaze away from Stiles. “You said that you had put everything about us behind you. Why would you want to re-enter into an arrangement that once caused you pain?”

“Because I lied,” Stiles simply answered.

Derek looked up at Stiles, his hand slipping from his chest as he gave him room to breathe. He carefully watched Stiles, waiting for an explanation.

“It was my idea to renew the arrangement,” Stiles confessed, daring to risk his embarrassment if it meant that Derek would stop assuming he was a burden to everyone. “My father dressed it up how he needed to in order for the Council to accept it. But, in the end, it was my idea.”

“Why?” Derek asked, his voice small and hollow, as if he was afraid to hear the answer.

“Because once, when I was lost and alone in a maze, and I had no idea how to escape, you were the one that took my hand and lead me out of it,” Stiles softly answered. “I’m trying to lead you out of the maze you’re trapped in now. Just … let me, Derek.”

Derek stubbornly turned away from Stiles. “You’re still a child if you honestly think we could fix any of this,” he gruffly answered.

“And you’re a selfish bastard,” Stiles answered with similar gruff. “But I’m willing to try if you are.”

Derek looked at Stiles, evaluating him. His features were tired, as if he had gotten little sleep as of late. His lips slightly pursed as he turned his head from Stiles, eyes scanning the shelves around them as a way to distract him from the now.

“It’s not that I don’t wish to try. I’m not … ” Derek cut himself off, taking in a deep breath before shaking his head, stubbornly still rejecting the alternative Stiles was offering him.

“You’re not good with words,” Stiles commented, a slightly amused smile pulling at his lips when Derek turned to glare at him, no heat behind the look. “I’m not expecting you to marry me in two years, Derek. I’m giving you this offer, and if … if you find someone else, it’s still in your right to decline me.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed, gently shaking his head. “I’m not worth it.”

It was Stiles’ turn to furrow his eyebrows in confusion. “Worth what?”

“Worth being with,” Derek explained. “I’m not worth the added stress.”

“Added stress,” Stiles partially grumbled as he rolled his eyes. “Stop self-loathing. It’s not fitting for you.”

“Stiles—”

“Derek,” Stiles cut off his protest. “Please. For your own sake and the sake of your sisters, stop. You’re not being punished for what Kate did to you. You still have the option to abdicate if that is what you truly wish to do. The Council will more than likely argue that it’s not necessary, but if you do not wish to marry Jennifer or me, there are other options.” He released a sigh, slumping his body back against the shelves behind him. “You have a choice, and I wish to keep it that way. This arrangement isn’t final, Derek.”

Stiles allowed the silence to settle between them as he stood, moving to exit the library before words were exchanged that both of them would come to regret. He lingered by the door when he uttered, “We still have two years—two summers to decide. I would like to exchange letters in the following months, but … if you don’t answer, I won’t think ill of you.” He knew Derek was stubborn, and more than likely wouldn’t answer him.

But it was worth a try. _Derek_ was worth a try.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's an exciting one and hopefully a crowd pleaser :3

Stiles wasn’t sure what to speak of in his first letters to Derek. It was strange to suddenly begin a dialogue he thought would never occur. He tried to think of things Derek would appreciate talking about—fencing, riding, books. It wasn’t completely foreign to Stiles, but he tried to add in details about his own interests without seeming too forward.

Stiles tried not to impatiently pace whenever he had sent the courier off with another letter. He had written Derek five letters in two months. He didn’t think it was pushing it until Lydia told him to give his inkwell a rest.

It had been a week after Stiles sent his last letter before he received word back. Stiles was having breakfast with Lydia when a servant interrupted their friendly banter. He stared in awe at the servant when he announced that it was a letter from Triskelia.

“There, see?” Lydia replied, a small gleam of amusement in her eyes when she saw how Stiles leapt up from his seat to grab the letter.

Stiles was staring down at the letter before he abruptly looked up at Lydia. “I’m sorry, but would you mind if I—”

“You’ve been waiting for that letter for a few months,” Lydia started. “I’ll be here when you get done reading it.”

“Thank you,” Stiles quickly stated as he excused himself. He snuck off to his favorite window seat, hiding behind the curtain as he tucked his legs under himself—like when he was a child playing hide and seek with his mother.

 _Stiles_ ,

_I’m sorry this letter took so long to reach you. Every time I tried to send you a letter, a new one would arrive. I received them, by the way. All five of them._

Stiles winced, berating himself for sending too many in such a short period of time.

_Cora wasn’t happy that she did not receive one from you. I informed her that you would more than likely be sending one for her soon._

_I can’t say that I’m surprised you’re doing well with your father’s Council. I don’t believe there is a doubt in anyone’s mind that you are going to make a wonderful ruler._

_As for your questions in fencing, I do very little practice these days. I find the moves to be more strained with my current state. Deaton disapproves whenever I strain myself too much, a few of the burns have yet to completely heal, and every lunge in fencing practice tends to tear at the ones on my side._

_That was probably more than you wanted to know, I apologize for that._

Stiles rolled his eyes, able to feel just how conscious Derek was of his words, even in written form. He wanted to know more, but only what Derek was willing to share.

Stiles took his time reading through Derek’s letter, every word drawing him in as he leaned against the window, a small smile pulling at his lips whenever Derek’s dry humor shone through. Before he knew it, he had read through the pages, his fingertips tracing the loops and sharp snaps of Derek’s name scrawled across the bottom of the page. He smiled at the ‘Always’ Derek had written above his name.

Stiles gently folded the letter’s pages together, making sure not to create any new creases. He emerged from his hiding spot among the window’s curtains to head back to his room. He wanted to guarantee that the letter was safely stored in the chest by his desk.

Even with the exchange of letters, Derek and Stiles still kept their mutual banter and shared teasing of one another. It was nice to experience a side of Derek that didn’t feel hindered by his need to impress anyone. The letters were personal and without audience, something Stiles greatly appreciated.

Derek’s letters suddenly stopped two months before Stiles was the visit the Hale kingdom. Stiles didn’t think much of it, knowing that Derek was probably reluctant to admit that the deadline for their decision was now a year shorter. He held his own reservations about seeing each other for the summer, knowing that things would feel strained for them to try for sparking a romance between them.

Everything changed when Stiles’ father received a letter from Peter about their intended voyage.

“I think we’ll have to delay our voyage,” the King stated as his eyes focused on the letter.

Stiles’ steps slowed as he descended the stairs. He watched his father, knowing that he wasn’t fondly teasing, but serious with his suggestion of delaying. “Why, can Prince Derek not stomach the idea of entertaining a seventeen year old?” He sighed in annoyance, wondering if Derek was back to playing his games, despite how close they've become in their letters.

"He's ill," the King corrected Stiles.

Stiles tensed. "How ... how bad is it?"

The King paused as his eyes scanned the letter. "The physicians don't know what it is. They think it might be the same sickness that afflicted the tenants at the docks."

Stiles moved closer, wanting to inspect the letter himself. "They don't want us coming?"

The King looked up at Stiles, a look of wonderment crossing his features. "It's an infectious sickness, Stiles."

"And I'm trained in arcane knowledge, including medicinal herbs," Stiles countered.

“It’s not safe, Stiles,” the King answered with finality. “We can't risk it, I’m sorry.”

Stiles didn’t listen.

In the middle of the night, Stiles snuck out of his rooms, headed for the docks. He paid the correct men for silence, ensuring that they left immediately. Stiles had discovered his father’s letter being relayed to the Hales, detailing their condolences and sorrow at not attending this summer’s activities. He disposed of it before any other eyes befell the parchment. He was was welcomed by Peter, who didn’t blindly accept Stiles arriving alone.

“Your father unexpectedly sent you after receiving word that it wasn’t safe to come?” Peter skeptically questioned.

“My father doesn’t know I’m here,” Stiles stubbornly answered Peter’s question. “Well, actually, by now he has probably figured it out, and will more than likely come himself or send Scott to drag me back home.”

“I should send you back,” Peter answered, an amused but fond smirk pulling at his lips. “But I believe my nephew would only benefit from your presence.”

“How is he?” Stiles questioned as he walked beside Peter to the horses.

“He’s doing better than most of the poorer victims of this illness,” Peter deeply sighed.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” Stiles weakly asked in worry.

“We’re doing all we can, Stiles,” Peter answered. “The rest is up to him.”

~*~

Stiles remained silent as he worked, rolling his sleeves up. His hands were steady, compared to the erratic hammering of his heart. His eyes continued to flicker over to Derek, carefully evaluating his sleeping form. He didn’t want to know the severity of the illness, afraid to admit that Derek’s likelihood of recovery was slim to none.

Derek’s beard was trimmed short, making him look a great degree similar to his father. His hair was a little longer than last Stiles’ saw him, knowing that the physicians and healers were less concerned with Derek’s grooming practices than his health. He was grateful that they at least would be putting effort into helping Derek recover, even if it was for their own bragging rights instead of for his own sake.

Stiles gently moved to sit on the edge of Derek’s bed, reaching a palm out to touch Derek’s forehead. A small frown settled over Stiles’ features as soon as he felt just how overheated Derek was.

Derek’s skin was clammy, warm to the touch. He was paler than normal, a small film of sweat covering him.

“How long has he been like this?” Stiles asked as he looked over at the other healers.

“His highness had complained about small aches here and there,” one of the healers answered. “He has been in an unresponsive fever dream for the past two days. Unfortunately, his fever has only been getting worse.”

Stiles moved to lean over Derek, noting the sickly paleness of Derek’s normally tanned skin, the way a cold sweat fell over his entire body. He wanted to reprimand the healers, Deaton included, when he realized that Derek was still fully clothed under the blankets.

“He’s freezing though,” one of the healers protested when Stiles pulled the blanket back.

“And if he stays in clothes, he’ll sweat through them and make himself sicker,” Stiles quickly countered.

“With respect, Prince Meonenim, you’re not a healer. You are merely a—”

“If you call me a child, I will hit you with one of Prince Derek’s beloved books,” Stiles snapped.

Stiles’ fingers made quick work of Derek’s shirt laces, moving to pull the material up his body as best as possible.

“I trust the prince’s decision,” Peter stated as he moved to help Stiles lift Derek’s body enough to slip the shirt up over his head.

“King Regent, are we certain—”

“I would prefer my nephew not die,” Peter simply stated as he turned to look at the healers. “And I trust Prince Stiles to genuinely share that sentiment.” His eyes scanned the healers before he added, “You’re all dismissed. I’ll help Stiles before retiring for the night.” He didn’t wait for them to answer him as he watched Stiles move to pick up a few of the clean linen cloths to submerge them in fresh water.

“He has a high fever,” Stiles stated, using the wet cloth to wash the sweat from Derek’s brow. He gently ran the cloth down Derek’s shoulders and arms, trying to clean the sweat from him as quickly as possible. His eyes tracked the various scars covering Derek’s arm and torso. There was a large scar that spanned the side of Derek’s chest and stomach. He noticed the scar on Derek’s arm, the one that was still fresh when Derek yanked himself from Stiles’ reach last year.

“It’s a lot, I know,” Peter’s words broke through Stiles’ thoughts. “And Derek would be the first person to worriedly cover himself if he saw you staring.”

“I’m not staring because it’s a lot,” Stiles softly answered, his fingertips moving to brush over Derek’s hand, wishing he’d react to the touch. “It’s what the scars represent,” he corrected Peter. “You’ve all been through so much, but Derek still isn’t allowing himself to heal.”

Peter carefully watched Stiles. “I won’t argue with you about that. The whole reason he’s sick is because of that.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked as he looked up at Peter.

“Derek’s been down at the docks, even before the illness broke out,” Peter explained. “He’s been helping hand out food, tend to the sick, whatever he can do to help them while Cora struggles to get the Court and Council to see the merit of helping the poor.” A fond but sad smile fell on Peter’s lips. “He said it was a hobby to place his intentions towards bettering himself and the kingdom.”

A sense of pride washed over Stiles as he turned to look at Derek. He knew Derek was taking his years old suggestion at finding a hobby—one that would better suit his intentions at healing. “He was being a prince of the people,” he softly commented, brushing back a few stray strands of Derek’s hair, trying to keep them from sticking to his forehead.

“He’s no longer the selfish brat of a teenager he once was,” Peter commented.

“He never was,” Stiles corrected Peter. “Just headstrong.”

Peter carefully watched Stiles, noting how tender his touches and words were.

Stiles shook his head, turning his attention to dealing with the rest of Derek’s clothes. “I hate saying this, but … he’ll be more comfortable without trousers.”

Peter allowed Stiles to change the course of conversation, not making a teasing comment as he normally would have. He moved to help Stiles situate Derek appropriately, noticing how nervous Stiles appeared. “I can undress him myself if it would make you more comfortable.”

“It’s not that,” Stiles answered, his fingers pausing once they finished undoing the laces of Derek’s trousers. “I don’t like taking this away from Derek.”

“Being naked in front of you for the first time?” Peter countered in question.

“Taking his consent away,” Stiles voiced.

“I believe, Prince Stiles, that my nephew will forgive you,” Peter replied. “Considering the circumstances and all.”

Stiles shook his head, ignoring Peter’s words as he finally removed the last of Derek’s clothing. He tried to avert his eyes, not allowing his gaze to linger on Derek’s body as he pulled the blankets up to cover him once more. He placed a clean, cool cloth to Derek’s forehead, turning to grab another blanket when a hand grasped hold of his wrist.

“Stiles,” Derek strained himself as he tried to reach for Stiles with his other hand.

“Derek, don’t talk,” Stiles immediately instructed as he moved closer to him, relief washing over him now that Derek showed conscious awareness. “You’re very sick. But I’m going to take care of you, okay?” He moved place a delicate hand against Derek’s cheek, his fingertips touching the scars along his jaw for the first time.

“Shouldn’t have come,” Derek barely answered as he leaned into Stiles’ open palm.

“Couldn’t keep me away,” Stiles answered with a soft smile.

Stiles managed to get Derek to drink some water, not as much as Stiles wanted him to, but it was more than the others managed. He noted how much Derek struggled with remaining awake, as if he didn’t want to sleep now that he knew Stiles was there. He took advantage of that, trying to mend Derek’s ailing body as best as possible. He ran his fingers in a comforting manner through Derek’s hair as he pressed small shards of ice against his lips, desperate to lower his fever.

“Not supposed to be like this,” Derek managed to utter.

“I don’t mind,” Stiles replied, his attention remaining on Derek as he pressed a cool cloth to his forehead. “You’re not as grumpy this way.”

Derek released a faint huff, sounding as close to a laugh as he could manage. “I’ll remember that … for later.”

“But for now, sleep some more. I’ll be here when you wake up, again.” He noted Derek’s hesitance as he strained himself to speak more. “I promise. We’ll talk later.” He released a small, content sigh when Derek finally slipped back into sleep.

Stiles kept by Derek’s side, busying himself with reading and weaving. He ignored the other healers and their snubs when they realized that Stiles was managing to improve Derek’s condition as the hours passed. He refused to leave the room when Scott came the next day.

“Stiles, your father demanded your return—”

“You can tell my father that I’m not leaving,” Stiles simply replied, settling in his chair beside Derek’s bed.

“If this illness is as infectious as the healers believe—”

“Scott, I respect that you are concerned for my wellbeing,” Stiles started as he turned his attention to his best friend. “But my concern for Derek is greater. And I promised I wouldn’t leave him—just as my father promised my mother. You can tell my father that I expect him to understand that.”

Stiles wasn’t surprised when his father replied to Scott’s letter with acceptance, as hesitant as it was. He knew his father would understand and respect his decision, despite how determined he was to keep Stiles safe.

Derek’s fever was nearly gone, his breathing no longer shallow or delayed. His skin had returned to a healthier color, no longer sweating through the sheets. Despite it all, Derek had been asleep for more than a day, without waking.

And it left Stiles to worry.

The hour was late when Stiles finally forced himself away from Derek’s bedside. His gaze lingered on Derek before he forced himself to examine the room he had been staying in the past few days. He had never before seen Derek’s room, feeling guilty that this situation was what granted him such a private look into Derek’s life.

Stiles scanned his surroundings, noting the different trinkets scattered about Derek’s room. He moved by the bookcase, not at all surprised that Derek had books in his room, readily available to be read at his pleasure. His fingertips skimmed over the shelves, smiling to himself as he read the titles. He halted when he caught sight of a book lingering on the cushion of Derek’s armchair.

The chair was worn in places, displaying Derek’s affection for lounging in the piece of furniture. But Stiles was interested in the light blue ribbon peeking out from between the book’s pages. He gently picked the book up, not fully noting the title as he opened the pages to inspect the ribbon.

The ribbon was frayed at one side from its obvious use, knotted to keep it from destroying the rest of the ribbon. It hadn’t lost its color in the past five years.

Stiles recognized the ribbon as one of those used during the celebratory games that Derek so loved to participate in—and win. It was one of the ribbons Stiles had tied on Derek’s arm as a favor for him to wear during the fencing tournament.

“You look like a dream.”

Stiles turned around to see Derek’s eyes open, tracking his movements. He couldn’t help the smile pulling across his lips, overjoyed that Derek was awake and speaking. He held onto the book and ribbon as he moved towards the bed, closer to Derek.

“You’re finally awake,” Stiles uttered, reaching a hand out to touch Derek’s arm.

“Am I?” Derek softly questioned, his eyes never leaving Stiles.

“You think … this is an illusion,” Stiles concluded.

“Why else would you be here?” Derek replied as he took a deep breath. “I’ve treated you terribly.”

“Maybe I came because I don’t want to see you die,” Stiles answered, moving to lean closer to Derek. “Because I’ve grown fond of your letters.”

“I don’t deserve that kindness,” Derek replied.

“I think you do,” Stiles countered. “More than you could possibly know.”

“I miss you,” Derek uttered, taking a deep breath as he settled into the bed more.

“I missed you, too,” Stiles answered with a soft smile. He looked down at the ribbon, a fondness falling over him. “I can’t believe you kept this.”

“It was technically a gift from you,” Derek replied as his eyes settled on the ribbon. “Of course I kept it.”

“You’re a romantic,” Stiles commented, placing a hand against Derek’s forehead to check his temperature.

“For you, I am,” Derek answered with a small smile as he looked up at Stiles.

“I think you’re deliriously flirting with me,” Stiles replied as he let his hand fall from Derek. He was surprised when Derek’s hand caught his, his fingers running along his knuckles in a tender gesture.

Stiles carefully watched Derek, his eyes lingering on him. He leaned closer, moving to hover over Derek, reaching his hand out to cup Derek’s cheek, the ribbon still dangling from his hold. He paused, just a small gap between his lips and Derek’s.

Derek pressed his lips to Stiles’ with little strain, holding onto his hand in desperation to keep Stiles close.

Stiles pressed a fleeting kiss to Derek’s lips, reluctantly pulling back as he looked down at him. “You need rest,” he lightly stated, his thumb brushing against Derek’s cheek as he kept close to him.

“Stay,” Derek weakly asked, a small request of Stiles’ company while he slept. “Just until I sleep.”

“I won’t leave,” Stiles answered, settling into the bed beside Derek. He rested his head against Derek’s shoulder, thankful he wasn’t leaning against Derek’s scarred side—hoping to guarantee that Derek was comfortable. He eyed the ribbon in his hand, his fingers playing with it as he rested against Derek’s chest.

As they both started to fall asleep, Stiles wasn’t surprised that he was falling even more in love with Derek.

~*~

Stiles was more than upset when he received word from his father that it was unsafe to return home. There was unrest brewing in the Northern region of the kingdom, particularly from the suspicions that neighboring kingdoms were planning to invade. Rumors of Countess Blake mounting an army, pressing panic among the masses of the known world. And everyone predicted that Beacon would be the first place she was placing her sights on, which prompted the King to take precautions. The borders of Beacon would have to be periodically shut down, and heavily patrolled.

No ship would be safe on the open water, especially if it was carrying the heir to the Stilinski kingdom.

“I suppose I’m to stay until things settle,” Stiles announced to Peter and Cora when he finished reading his father’s letter for the eighth time that afternoon. “I apologize for any inconvenience—”

“Stiles, it’s the least we could do,” Cora interrupted him, moving to stand. She gathered Stiles hands in her own, a comforting gesture. “You saved Derek’s life, _and_ you’re practically family.”

“I don’t wish to be a burden,” Stiles softly replied.

“You’re not a burden,” Peter commented as he placed his papers down, turning his attention towards both Cora and Stiles. “And I know of someone who would greatly appreciate you staying longer—perhaps even indefinitely.”

Stiles released a faint huff of laughter, turning to look at the ground in an attempt to hide his blush.

Stiles found Derek in the gardens, resting in a lounging chair as he read his book. He was silent in approaching Derek, observing the way Derek’s brow creased every now and again in pensive thought. He smiled when Derek looked up at him.

“Are you feeling better?” Stiles asked as he moved to sit on the bench across from Derek.

“I finally let Deaton order a few servants to carry this chair out here,” Derek explained. “He didn’t want me sitting on a bench for too long, afraid I’d become ill from the cold of the stone.”

Stiles couldn’t suppress his laugh, not at all surprised the healers were working in overtime to pester Derek about remaining well.

“They’re invested in your wellbeing,” Stiles offered.

“They want to take credit for what you did,” Derek corrected him, gently slipping the book shut as he allowed his attentions to linger on Stiles’ saddened expression. “Something’s wrong.”

“I received word from my father,” Stiles honestly answered as he looked at the garden.

Derek dejectedly nodded in acceptance. “You’re leaving, then,” he uttered in disappointment.

“The opposite, actually,” Stiles replied, looking up at Derek. “There is unrest falling over Beacon, and I am to stay until he sends for me.”

“Will they be alright?” Derek questioned, sitting upright in his chair.

“I’m hoping,” Stiles weakly replied. “I honestly don’t know and it kind of bothers me to think that I’m not there while all this is happening.”

“If anything happens, we will aid you and your people in whatever manner necessary,” Derek offered, moving forward in an aborted motion to touch Stiles. He had struggled over the past few days about growing closer to anyone, still feeling vulnerable whenever anyone dared close enough to touch him. But with Stiles, he stressed to not overstep boundaries between them, not wanting Stiles to feel even slightly uncomfortable in his presence.

Stiles looked at Derek, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “You sound very kingly.”

Derek released a faint snort. “I won’t be needing the practice for anything.”

A frown settled over Stiles’ features. “You really think I’d ignore your insights when ruling?”

“You still wish to honor the arrangement,” Derek stated with a slight sense of wonderment, as if he expected Stiles to recant everything that happened in the past year.

“I never wanted to dishonor our arrangement,” Stiles countered.

“With everything that is happening,” Derek paused, taking his time to select his next words carefully as he looked down at his book. “Your father may need you to make a stronger alliance, that’s all I meant.”

“My father doesn’t control my decisions,” Stiles replied. “And if you want to talk about our intended marriage in terms of alliances, then it’s a strong match already.” He waited for Derek to look at him before continuing. “Marriage to you means connections to Triskelia, in particular, to the future Queen. You also make a connection to the Crowned Prince and Princess of Yorsia, and whomever their children marry.”

“I’m quite a political catch,” Derek deadpanned.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles firmly stated. “Which is why Countess Blake is angry with my father. In particular, she’s angry with me for making the suggestion that we renew our engagement.”

“It seems to be unnecessary stress,” Derek countered.

“It’s not,” Stiles stated. “Well, she’s stressful to be around, but most power hungry rulers are.” He took it as a slight victory when Derek cracked the smallest hint of a smile. “Sincerely, Derek,” he started, reaching a hand out to take hold of Derek’s. “I am invested in continuing this engagement. Especially if you are, as well.”

Derek allowed his gaze to linger on Stiles’ hand, detailing the way he was holding his. He looked away, eyes scanning the various flowers surrounding them as he faintly nodded in acceptance. “I am.”

Stiles nodded, feeling relieved to finally hear Derek’s endorsement of remaining engaged to one another. “Well, I guess you better get used to having me around, huh?”

Derek playfully grimaced, turning his attention back to his book. “How will I survive?”

~*~

Stiles was thankful for Derek, overjoyed whenever he pulled his thoughts away from the brewing troubles overshadowing Beacon. He loved spending the days learning more about Derek and Triskelia, often times forgetting that he would one day call Triskelia a home away from home.

They spent their free time together, whether it be in—surprisingly—deep conversation, or shared silence as they entertained themselves. Derek had begun to ride again, his path to former prowess taking longer than he originally thought it would. There were some burns that had healed wrong, forcing limitations on some movements, but he managed. Riding was simple compared to fencing.

Stiles would sit and read while Boyd helped Derek practice. He was present for more than one of Derek’s increasingly popular rage induced quits. He was the one that suggested Derek begin practicing left handed.

The slow approach of Stiles’ highly anticipated birthday found Derek stealing a few days to himself. Stiles didn’t mind, but he grew increasingly curious as to where Derek was sneaking off to. He made it a point to ask him one day.

Derek was attempting to show Stiles how to find his way out of the maze without him. Every day ended with Stiles admitting defeat, despite how simple the route was to remember. Derek didn’t tease him, merely entertained his requests to show him the following day—neither one of them admitted that Stiles knew the way out, both of them happy to spend the time together.

“You’ve been sneaking about,” Stiles simply stated as they turned another corner of the maze.

“It’s a surprise,” Derek slightly offered.

“What type of surprise?” Stiles curiously asked, moving to take a seat by the fountain.

“A birthday surprise.”

“Ah,” Stiles nodded. “A birthday surprise from a prince. I wonder what it could be.” He thoughtfully played with his locket, gently nibbling at the inside of his cheek. “Already have given me so much, I’m curious if this value has a different meaning.”

Derek shied away from Stiles’ line of thought, afraid of what Stiles would ask of him—if Stiles would ask anything of Derek. “Stop prying,” he partially mumbled.

Stiles left it alone, anxious for his birthday to draw closer. He grew overly animated when Derek finally said he could have his surprise. He tried not to laugh when Derek finished tying the blindfold over his eyes, holding onto Derek’s arm for guidance.

“You didn’t have to blindfold me,” Stiles laughed when he tripped for what felt like the hundredth time.

“It’s more amusing this way,” Derek confessed, finally coming to a stop, pulling the blindfold from Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles allowed his eyes a series of blinks, all in an attempt for his eyesight to focus once more. “The stables,” he commented as he observed their surroundings. “Are you giving me your horse?” He excitedly asked, despite knowing that Triskele only tolerated him because Derek bribed her with carrots.

Triskele huffed an air of annoyance, confirming that she would never listen to a thing Stiles told her to do.

“No,” Derek huffed, gesturing his head to the stall opposite Triskele.

Stiles smiled as he moved closer to Derek, his eyes dancing with excitement. He turned his head to peer into the stall. He caught sight of a ball of black fluff sleeping amongst the hay. “You got me … a furball,” he stated in amazement as he entered the stall. “Is it a hat?”

“A hat— no,” Derek huffed in frustration. “She’s a wolf pup.”

Stiles paused his movements, turning to look at Derek. “But I thought your kingdom specified laws to keep human interaction with them limited.”

“Limited, yes. But so many of them need assistance when their packs are destroyed, essentially putting them at risk of poaching,” Derek informed him as he looked down at the wolf pup.

Stiles moved to kneel beside her, not caring if he dirtied his trousers. He was surprised by the softness of her fur, his fingers gently moving to pet her. He smiled down at her when she turned her head to look at who was disturbing her sleep. She looked at him with bold blue eyes, a spot of white fur covering her left eye. “Where’s her mother?”

Derek frowned, recalling how he found her—weak and howling for help when she realized she couldn’t stir her mother. “Another pack, most likely,” he explained. “The rest of the pack was probably picked off by hunters. Her mother was the pack Alpha—and without her to protect them … things didn’t end well.”

“You’ve been caring for her here,” Stiles stated, turning his gaze back to Derek.

“I wanted her to get used to being inside manmade structures,” Derek explained. “She’s ready to go inside, though.” He shifted his weight, moving to take a step back from the stall. “If you want her, that is.”

“Of course I do,” Stiles admitted, turning back to look at her when he felt her legs tangle around his hand. “She seems to like me.”

“She could probably smell you on me,” Derek explained.

“Her sense of smell is that good?” Stiles questioned.

“You’d be surprised,” Derek commented.

Stiles played with the wolf pup for a little while, laughing the more she jumped around and pressed her head into his chest. He easily flipped her over and onto her back whenever she pounced and pranced towards him. He was happy whenever she would run over to Derek, prompting the older prince to kneel beside her and rub her tummy in praise.

“Have to think of a name for her,” Stiles finally stated as he watched the wolf pup retrieve water from her bowl.

“You can name her whatever you want,” Derek replied.

Stiles looked at the wolf pup, taking in her details. He thought about the countless fiction he read through the years—myths about heroes, mortal and immortal alike. “I like … Calliope.”

The wolf pup barked, rolling onto her back as her paws dangled in the air before falling into Stiles.

“I think she agrees,” Derek replied with a soft smile as he watched Stiles pet the pup.

“She’s perfect, Derek,” Stiles fondly commented as he pet and scratched at Calliope’s stomach. “Thank you.”

~*~

Derek would watch as Stiles played with Calliope in the following days. He was pleased to see how close Stiles kept Calliope. It wasn’t a surprising sight to see Calliope trotting after Stiles down the hallways, or to see her curled up under his feet in the library as he read and wove.

Calliope was the one that got both Stiles lost in the maze looking for her. Derek had found Stiles rushing around the corners of the maze in a hurry to find Calliope. Stiles crashed into Derek, knocking them both over. Calliope chose that moment to come barreling down the maze and jump onto both of them.

The day before Stiles’ birthday celebration, Derek was sitting in the library when Stiles made his lingering comment.

“Your beard is uneven,” Stiles aimlessly stated, his eyes concentrating on the hair covering Derek’s face as the unfinished handkerchief remained in his lap.

“Okay,” Derek replied, not knowing how to respond as he turned his attention away from his book and towards Stiles.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Stiles explained. “I just … I’ve been wanting to tell you, but didn’t know how to without sounding creepy.”

Derek arched an eyebrow at Stiles.

“I said something to Cora, and she said that your beard isn’t uneven,” Stiles dejectedly admitted. “But it is, and I didn’t want you to think I’ve been gawking at you.”

Calliope raised her head from the floor to look up at Stiles. She was nestled under Stiles feet and half of the chair. She had grown bigger with every passing day, her predominant features looking more wolfish the older she became. She released a faint whine as she hooked her muzzle over Stiles’ foot, wanting to comfort him when she caught scent of Stiles’ anxiety.

Stiles reached a hand down to pet Calliope’s head, letting her know that all was well.

Derek ran his fingers over his beard, trying to see what Stiles meant. He could tell that one side was longer than the other, but he started to do that in attempts to completely hide his burns.

“Don’t feel self-conscious,” Stiles stated as he stood.

“I didn’t think that someone would notice,” Derek confessed, looking at Stiles, knowing that he was going to start pacing.

“I know you’re self-conscious,” Stiles started as he began pacing, Calliope getting up to follow him. “I didn’t want to say anything, because I love your beard, but I know Courtiers will take any excuse to be unpleasant—more so with me than with you. But I don’t want you to feel cornered at the ball tomorrow, and being on display for them to poke at.”

“I’ll trim it,” Derek offered, wanting to put Stiles’ rambling worries to rest.

“You clearly have been trimming it,” Stiles stated. “You’d look like the grand maester if you didn’t trim it, Derek.”

“I’m not in my nineties, nor do I never cut my beard,” Derek deadpanned.

“I want you to be comfortable. In all honesty, I like your beard being like that,” Stiles stated, ignoring Derek’s statement.

“But you don’t want people to poke at me,” Derek repeated. “Then trim it for me.”

That was how Stiles came to be standing in Derek’s room, leaning over a sitting Derek with small shears in his hands. He was careful in his motions to cut Derek’s beard, conscious of keeping his beard even. He was aware of the phantom feeling of Derek’s hands on his hips, steadying him from swaying too close or too far away.

It was nice—a private moment shared between just them. It made Stiles think of what married life to Derek would be like. Would Derek let him shave or trim his beard when necessary? Would Derek help him when dressing? His thoughts wandered to thinking about undressing, a soft blush creeping on his cheeks as a result.

“You didn’t trim my eyebrows off, did you?” Derek asked, opening one eye to look at Stiles when he realized that Stiles wasn’t doing anything.

“Just one of them,” Stiles answered with a playful smile when Derek gave him an exasperated look. “Your eyebrows are one of my favorite things about you—to harm them would be unforgivable.”

A small smile pulled at Derek’s lips.

Stiles allowed his touch to linger, his fingertips gently moving through the short strands of Derek’s beard, enjoying the feeling of such an intimate act. His heart sped when Derek tightened his hold on his hips.

“Tickles,” Derek answered, his voice softly rumbled from his chest; his pupils blown wide as he looked up at Stiles.

The moment ended when one of the guards knocked on the door, announcing that the royal tailor wanted to see about fitting Derek for the ball tomorrow night.

Stiles reluctantly pulled away from Derek, busying himself with putting the scissors away. He paused by the door, Derek carefully watching him. “I look forward to a dance tomorrow, if you’d be so inclined.”

“Is that your wish?” Derek asked.

“Are you agreeing to save me a dance?” Stiles asked in kind.

“Yes,” Derek answered, a smile overtaking his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note! Next chapter will be posted sometime between now and 6 am EST.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rant time:
> 
> Alright. I'm going to say it. If your are going to be an asshole in the comments, just save your time and my time and don't do it. It's not critiquing anything, it's just taking something someone else made and trying to drag it to make yourself feel more important--and I get enough of that 'holier than thou' bullshit from family reunions. And it also could hurt someone else who has gone through a situation similar (aka, forgiven someone who had hurt them (emotionally) before--just because someone made one mistake doesn't mean they are the devil incarnate or an abuser or whatever fucked up thing you think). And it's not up to you to tell someone else they are wrong about their own personal experiences or relationships, especially if they are not dangerous to themselves or others.

Despite the ball being held in Triskelia, hosted by the Hales, Stiles was the honored host of his birthday celebration. He greeted every guest after their announcement. He offered pleasing smiles as he anxiously waited beside Peter and Cora for Derek to make his entrance.

“You don’t think he changed his mind, do you?” Stiles whispered to Cora, terrified that he would be making a different announcement tonight than he intended.

“He’d be a fool to do that,” Cora replied, offering a polite bow of her head to passing royalty.

“He doesn’t like crowds,” Stiles countered in Derek’s defense.

“He enjoys the crowds at the docks just fine,” Cora countered in kind.

“The people at the docks aren’t trying to tear him apart,” Stiles stated.

A smile replaced Cora’s disinterested features when she caught sight of Derek lingering on the outside of the ballroom. “Your prince charming awaits,” she lightly cackled when Derek nearly knocked one of the servants over. “I swear, how he won all those fencing tournaments, we’ll never know. He’s as clumsy as you, just happens to have better luck in public when it comes to controlling it.”

Stiles ignored Cora, unable to take his eyes off of Derek.

Derek’s mask was predominantly silver, adorned with green etchings. The top of the mask rested above Derek’s forehead, a pair of lupine ears curving back to appear nestled in his hair. His outfit matched a similar shade to Cora’s and Peter’s, the Hale colors favoring the intricate patterns of silver and emerald. The sharp gray of Derek’s vest held segments of green throughout, complimenting his tanned skin with an uncharacteristic softness.

Stiles didn’t bother to excuse himself, moving through the crowd to make his way over to Derek. He wasn’t completely surprised when he was swarmed by the others. He was amused to think about how they had shunned him and fawned over Derek not even half a decade ago. Suddenly, the tables were turned and the crowd wanted to consume Stiles.

Stiles was annoyed when he lost sight of Derek’s mask, knowing that he was unlikely to get another chance of spotting Derek with ease—Derek had created the unique ability to hide, sometimes within plain sight. He partially spoke with the guests, thanking them for making the voyage to see him. His main focus remained on desperately searching out Derek.

Derek wasn’t surprised when the crowd took a liking to Stiles. To Derek, Stiles had always been handsome, a softer beauty to him than most of the men circulating the Courts. He would be the first to admit that Stiles was clumsy, and downright offensive at times when he forgot proper etiquette and custom. But Stiles was hauntingly endearing, which played out as being charming. At least Derek thought so.

And tonight was no different—the Court only happened to start taking notice of Stiles.

Stiles’ beauty was only enhanced by the gold decor of his clothing. His moles were accented by the charcoal patterns wrapping around his vest and trousers. He looked like a royal prize, one meant for a deserving person. His skin was humble, appearing softer than most as he stood out among the rest. His eyes twinkled in the candlelight of the ballroom, a pale shade of honeyed wheat nearly hidden beneath the royal decor of his mask. Rays of sunlight burst from the top of the mask, a mirroring decoration to Beacon’s throne. The mask only made Stiles’ appear even more ethereal than normal.

Stiles absolutely stole Derek’s breath away.

It reminded Derek why he felt like disappearing back into the shadows, knowing that despite the mask, his scars were a dead give away, announcing to the world that Derek Hale had come out of hiding from his shame.

Tonight was meant to be a celebratory occasion, marking Stiles’ eighteenth birthday and the finality of their interlocking fates. The only problem was that Derek slowly began to realize that the more people arrived, the less likely his fate would remain interlocked with Stiles’. He kept his distance, watching as Stiles politely conversed with the other Courtiers. He pretended not to scowl when Stiles allowed another Courtier to have his first dance of the evening.

Derek sighed, knowing his jealousy was unwarranted. He knew that this was how Stiles must have felt years ago whenever he was chasing after Kate. He took his chances, slipping out of the ballroom and onto the balcony for privacy. He released a heavy sigh, moving to lean against the balcony as he took in the crisp night air.

Summer would start soon, the first of many Derek would start spending in the Stilinski kingdom once their marriage was finalized. A heavy dread plummeted deep in his stomach, thoughts twisting to ideas of Stiles being appalled by the prospect of truly being stuck with Derek for the rest of their lives. He thought about ways to possibly accommodate Stiles—thinking that he could spend the days in a different section of the palace, perhaps tending to their child would keep him out of Stiles’ way.

Their child.

Derek hadn’t thought it completely through—what it meant to have a child with Stiles. He would have to share much more than a bed with his future husband. As custom, it was the Consort’s duty to care for the child while the King or Queen ruled. He wondered how Stiles would want to approach the subject of their child—if Stiles even trusted him with their child.

“Lost in thought?” Stiles’ voice broke through Derek’s racing thoughts, pulling him back to the present. He moved to stand beside Derek, leaning against the railing in a similar fashion.

“Taking a break,” Derek replied.

“You were late,” Stiles commented. “And then snuck away before you could be my first dance of the evening.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek sincerely answered, wishing he could have been Stiles’ first dance of the night.

“Don’t apologize,” Stiles nearly whispered, wanting Derek to not feel sorry for anything.

“I guess I’m sorry for saying I’m sorry, then,” Derek softly replied. A small smile pulled at his lips when Stiles lightly chuckled.

Stiles released a slight yawn, moving to stretch his entire body as he arched his back. He settled back against the balcony, this time closer to Derek. “When the clock strikes twelve, my birthday will officially be over,” he uttered as he loosened the mask, pulling it away from his previously hidden face .There were subtle traces of gold paint accenting his eyes, while the black charcoal outlined and framed his eyes. “We didn’t get to dance.”

“You danced wonderfully,” Derek answered, keeping his posture straight as he looked out over the balcony.

“I would have preferred dancing with you,” Stiles countered.

A silence filled the air between them.

Stiles placed his mask on the balcony, turning to look at Derek. He straightened, taking a step towards Derek, his hands reaching out to barely graze the mask. He paused his actions, his eyes flickered down to Derek’s partially parted lips. He released a small, nervous laugh as a gentle smile pulled at his lips. “May I?”

Derek slightly nodded, not trusting his voice. He bent his head to give Stiles better access to the ribbons of his mask. He anxiously waited as Stiles’ fingers made quick work of the ribbons before pulling the mask away from Derek’s face.

Stiles placed the mask beside his own, leaving them to be forgotten as he turned his attention back to Derek. “I like you better without the mask.” He reached his hand out, fingers itching to touch Derek, to cup his cheek in the palm of his hand.

Derek pulled away from Stiles before he could touch him. “Stop it,” he weakly pleaded, turning his face—his scars—away from Stiles. “I’d rather you not confuse this with what it is.”

“And what is this?” Stiles hollowly asked, closing his fingers into his palm as he cradled his hand against his chest.

“Pity,” Derek answered. “A childhood crush fueling it.”

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles lightly snapped, glad that he grabbed Derek’s attention when he finally looked back at him. “I told you, it was never just a childhood crush. And it was never about pity. I admire you, I always have.”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, a wistful expression taking over.

“Is it that hard to believe that I still find you as attractive as I always have?” Stiles asked, knowing it was the source of Derek pulling away. “You are more to me than how you physically appear, Derek. You always have been. And a couple of scars doesn’t change that.”

“They’re reminders of the past,” Derek offered in reply, not wanting to give a lingering thought to the scars across his body.

“Of what you’ve been through,” Stiles replied, taking the last step between them. He reached his hand up, finally cupping Derek’s face. He eased Derek into looking at him, a soft smile greeting Derek. “What we’ve been through.”

The clock struck the first toll of midnight.

“I suppose it’s official,” Stiles started, listening to the tolls cutting through the night. “I’m eighteen and our engagement has come to an end.” A sad smile replaced Stiles’ hopeful one. “You can officially reject me, but don’t do so thinking that I’m rejecting you.”

“How can you still want me?” Derek finally questioned, looking at Stiles in disbelief.

“How could you think that I ever could not want you?” Stiles replied, his pulse loudly pounding in his ears.

Derek wanted to pull away—wanted to get as far away from Stiles’ gaze as possible, it all becoming too much. He felt small, as if he was the subject of all the attention in the world. There was a kind warmth in the fondness showing through Stiles’ gaze, and it made Derek feel important. It made him feel loved. He pulled Stiles’ hands away from his face, holding them in his own hands as he struggled with the words. He stared at Stiles’ hands, memorizing the length of his fingers, and the nimble way they held onto his hands. “It’s true what they say,” he confessed. “I’m broken. I’m not the same person you were promised to.”

“Derek—”

“You’ve grown more and more attractive in these past years, and can find a better Consort than me,” Derek forcefully stated.

Stiles wanted to pull back from Derek. "Is that … is that all that matters to you? That I _look_ the part of a person befitting your title and rank? Do you care nothing for who I am?"

“Of course I do. I only care that I am someone deserving of you,” Derek corrected Stiles. “You’re gorgeous, fiercely intelligent, strongly opinionated. Sometimes, I want to just spend the whole day listening to you talk about the simplest of things. You’re absolute perfection. And … and you deserve someone better than me. Someone who can satisfy every single one of your needs.”

Stiles pursed his lips, his eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion. They had made such progress in the past year, growing closer together in the wake of the fire. But now, it felt as if they were taking leaps backwards. Stiles could feel the way Derek was trying to hide behind _something_.

“I’ve never—” Derek swallowed the lump in his throat, hating how inept he felt in the moment. “With Kate. I was never with her like _this_. Being with someone … Being prepared to go to the next step—to be considering life together.”

“That’s okay,” Stiles answered, slipping his hands out of Derek’s. His palms were sure and calmingly as they cupped Derek’s cheeks. “I have no experience, either.”

Derek shook his head. “It’s not that. I … I didn’t want you to think that I had been with _her_.” He saw the understanding settling over Stiles’ features. “I know the rumors that spread after the fire. She wanted to, but I never did. Instead, I … I saw to her _satisfaction_ , but sent her away afterwards. I never laid with her as a man would with his wife.”

A look of horror flickered in Stiles’ eyes. “Derek, that’s—”

“Disgusting, I know,” Derek started, pulling away from Stiles. “I couldn’t even perform such a basic task when prompted.”

“No! I mean, yes, it’s disgusting, but not how you are implying it,” Stiles quickly corrected him as he pulled Derek closer. “You’re not the disgusting one, she is! She used you—touched you when you didn’t want it. And all to the point that she manipulated you into pleasuring her against your will, just in order to get her to leave you alone.”

Derek remained silent, clinging to the rhythm of Stiles’ uneven breathing.

“Derek, you’re meant to know pleasure when engaging in such acts,” Stiles explained. “Both people are supposed to enjoy it.”

Derek looked at Stiles, a small look of hope and trust in Stiles’ statement.

“I would never …” Stiles sighed, his stomach feeling queasy just thinking about what Kate did to Derek. “If we are together, it will be when we are both comfortable with it—when we both want to be together.”

“If?” Derek questioned in uncertainty.

“If you wish to be,” Stiles explained. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

“People would talk,” Derek replied.

Stiles felt like he was losing Derek. He quickly dropped his hands from Derek, moving to reach for the clasp of his necklace. He unfastened the clasp, withdrawing the chain from around his neck. He reached out, hooking the necklace around Derek’s neck. He smiled when Derek quizzically looked up at him. His fingers ran along the chain, lingering on the locket he grown accustomed to mindlessly fiddling with—his prized possession.

“I don’t care if they talk,” Stiles finally answered. “Let them, they’ll talk regardless of what is true.” He looked from the engraved wolf on the locket to Derek. “You gave this locket to me as a gift—a promise. I guess, this is me giving you a promise back. I’ll stand beside you and any decision you make, as long as you make it for yourself, not because of how you wish to please people, including me.” He took a deep breath, releasing a shaky sigh. “Whatever you choose, I accept.”

Stiles startled when Derek pulled him close. He felt light and safe when Derek’s hands slid across his back, holding him against his body. His hands settled on Derek’s shoulders as he steadied himself from the abruptness of Derek’s actions. His eyes dashed down to Derek’s lips, his tongue quickly dashing across his own parted lips in anticipation. He was hesitant when his lips grazed Derek’s, not wanting to push him. He released a faint sigh when Derek’s lips pressed forward into a kiss.

Dancing be damned—kissing Derek was better than anything.

~*~

There was a buzz of excitement running through the kingdom at the news that Derek and Stiles were to marry within the coming months. Some were talking about how unlikely it would be of Stiles to go through with the marriage. Others talked about how grand of a unification their marriage would produce.

Stiles didn’t care. He was too happy. He was overjoyed when he saw just how at peace and happy Derek looked. He made sure to keep up correspondences with his father. He was excited when his father answered that the issues plaguing the kingdom had passed, allowing his father the opportunity to send for both Stiles and Derek.

Stiles was reading the letter from his father, Calliope settled beneath his feet and desk. He smiled when a flower came into his view, a familiar hand holding onto the stem. He turned his head to look at Derek, smiling up at him. “Thank you,” he stated, reaching a hand to take the flower from Derek as he pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Is that word from your father?” Derek asked against Stiles’ lips.

“Mhm,” Stiles answered, placing the letter down to turn in the chair towards Derek. “He says things have cleared up enough that we can head home.”

“Home,” Derek thoughtfully stated.

“A slip,” Stiles offered, afraid that Derek disliked the idea of calling his kingdom home.

“I like it,” Derek answered, pressing another kiss to Stiles’ lips and putting his worrying at ease.

The kiss was gentle, tender in nature. It was calm and collected, but a familiar passion hidden behind it. Derek’s strength and reservation was evident in the kiss, the way he leaned into Stiles, his hand moving to rest against Stiles’ hip as he pressed in closer. Stiles pushed up into Derek’s embrace, wanting the kiss to never end.

They shared a cabin on the ship with little fuss. Calliope slept at the foot of the bed, trying to catch her bearings as the sea’s unsteady waves caused her to stumble with the unknown swaying. Stiles enjoyed waking up to Derek’s arms around him—arms that managed to hold both of them in the bed.

Derek’s chest was a firm anchor, offering a warmth the ship could never quite keep. Stiles pressed back into him, trying to keep as close to Derek as possible. He would thread his fingers with Derek’s, thinking about a lifetime of waking up like this—thoughts of completely losing themselves in each other continued to occur.

Stiles knew the proper protocol called for them to remain on their designated sides, not touching in bed. It wasn’t proper to touch so intimately before marriage. He didn’t mind in the slightest, knowing that his father would only offer a disapproving look rather than chastising him if he heard rumor. He intended to marry Derek—it didn’t matter to Stiles when they truly began their most intimate of moments.

Since Stiles’ birthday, Stiles and Derek grew closer, trying to contain their desire to be together. But almost no one ever abided by the rules.

After Derek explained what Kate had done to him, Stiles was afraid to express the slightest pleasure he felt whenever Derek held him close. He was terrified that Derek would feel an obligation to give him whatever he wanted.

Derek was more vocal in what he wanted as the days passed, though. There were times when they forgot themselves, bodies pressed tightly together, lips wandering across sensitive skin.

There were only a few days until the wedding once they arrived back in Beacon, but Stiles couldn’t pull himself away from Derek. He stayed in his presence as often as possible, overjoyed when Derek actively did the same. They touched more, less ashamed to show how close they had become—how much they trusted each other.

Neither was certain how it happened. But they were both walking the hallway in shared silence when the kiss began. It ended with Stiles using the wall to steady them as Derek’s hands firmly held his hips.

“Derek,” Stiles moaned as Derek’s lips moved to showering attention on the hollow bend of his neck. “Oh God,” he panted, hand clasping at the back of Derek’s neck as their hips ground together in desperate need. It was electrifying, liberating them from the frustration of being too reserved in their actions towards one another so far. “Derek, is this okay?” He gently asked, trying to keep from crying out when Derek’s hand moved low on his back, fingers grazing over the top of his ass.

Derek pressed his face into Stiles’ neck, nuzzling into the soft skin he found there. He ran his beard along Stiles’ skin, causing a shudder to fall through Stiles. He couldn’t help his smile, gently nipping at Stiles’ earlobe. “Yes,” he whispered in Stiles’ ear, his voice husky with desire.

Stiles reached for Derek’s face, trying to get an advantage point in kissing him. He held him closely, tenderly kissing him. He had dreams about this, being held by Derek in such a way.

Both of them startled when they heard a patrol of palace guards turning down the hallway.

Stiles grasped Derek’s hand, pulling him towards his favorite window seat in order to hide behind the curtains. He pressed Derek back into the secluded spot, moving to join him. He wasn’t surprised when Derek arched a questioning eyebrow at him. He placed a finger against Derek’s lips to silence his words of protest in being stuck behind the curtain.

Derek rolled his eyes, allowing his body to sink into the window seat. He wasn’t surprised to find it comfortable, finding Stiles burrowed away here on several occasions. He looked up at Stiles, examining him as he turned his torso to peer out the curtain for a sign of the patrolling guards.

Stiles looked mature, a perfect image of a young man groomed for greatness. His features were still hauntingly gorgeous—sharp but welcoming, even with how delicate they seemed. He still gnawed at his lips like a child, a nervous habit he couldn’t stop.

Stiles turned his head from the curtain and towards Derek when their fingers entwined together. He offered a small smile as he looked down at Derek. He let Derek’s other hand linger on his hip, pulling him closer to stand between Derek’s parted thighs. He released a contented sigh when Derek placed the softest of kisses into his knuckles, their fingers still entwined. He reached a hand up, gently cupping Derek’s cheek as he ran his fingertips over the scars along Derek’s jaw.

Stiles moved without prompting, bending his knee to hook over Derek’s leg. His knee hit the soft cushion of the window seat, making it easy to lean on to lift his other leg. He was glad that Derek followed his actions, hands steadying Stiles’ movements to straddle Derek’s legs. He wasn’t sure what he meant to do—what being in Derek’s lap would lead to—but the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach told him it was what he wanted, and Derek didn’t object.

They both moved as if in a trance, hands holding each other in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart. Derek’s hands kneaded Stiles’ hips, moving to brace under Stiles’ ass as Stiles rocked against him. Stiles clawed at Derek’s shoulders, grinding their hips together as they kissed away their moans and calls for more.

All thoughts about their concern for the guards discovering them were long forgotten. The heat of each other’s embrace kept them safe, wrapped up in complete disinterest of propriety.

They made love that night.

Stiles laid panting as he looked up at the ceiling, his body sprawled across the bed. He tried to fight off the deep blush dusted across his cheeks, turning to watch Derek undress all the way as a small smile pulled across his lips. He didn’t care about his blush, not when he got to see Derek like this—completely bared to him. He lifted his arms to Derek, welcoming him to climb over him.

Derek settled over Stiles, his hips snuggly fitting between Stiles’ thighs. His hands cradled Stiles’ head, turning tender kisses to passionate nips as they moved against one another. He buried his head into the crook of Stiles’ neck, sucking a series of hickeys into his skin.

“They’ll see,” Stiles panted, fingers buried deep in Derek’s hair as he kept Derek’s head in place. “They’ll know I’m yours.” A moan ripped from his lungs when Derek dragged his teeth across his throat. He let his hand slip from Derek’s hair, fingertips trailing along his arm. He felt a pang of embarrassment fly through him as Derek looked down at him.

Derek’s eyes tracked the already blooming marks he left on Stiles’ skin. His fingers caressed the skin, marveling in the way Stiles’ skin lit up with a flush. He moved to place a kiss over Stiles’ heart, running his beard along Stiles’ abdomen as he lowered himself.

“Derek,” Stiles needily called, wanting to pull him back up. A moan shuddered through his body in a ripple, twisting and turning as he dug his fingers into the pillow behind his head, when Derek took him in his mouth. He was thankful that Derek used his pleasured distraction to his advantage, prepping him with his fingers. His grip tightened, his limbs shaking from the strain. He elevated his hips to make it easier for Derek to keep going, begging him to never stop.

Stiles felt as if he was losing his mind, panting heavily when Derek eventually pulled himself back and away from Stiles. He released a small moan when Derek pressed a kiss to his lips, opening his legs wide enough for Derek to settle between his thighs once more. He took his time to roll Derek onto his back, a smile stuck on his face as Derek pulled him with him.

Derek let Stiles run his hands over his body, trying to ignore the itch to cover up. He let Stiles see his scars, to trail his hands over them and place kisses as if they would just disappear with such devoting care.

Stiles made his way down Derek’s body, hesitating before he took Derek’s cock in his hand. He experimented the best he could, keeping one hand wrapped around the base of Derek’s cock as he used his tongue and mouth. He twisted his hand around the base, listening to the way Derek’s breath shortened. He took him into his mouth, bobbing his head despite being shy in his movements. That was until he heard the way Derek moaned in response.

Stiles couldn’t believe this was happening. His hand slowly moved up and down Derek’s shaft, gently bringing him to full hardness in a similar fashion that he always did to himself. He snuck a look up at Derek, a sense of smug satisfaction falling over him as he watched Derek’s knuckles turn white from fisting the sheets. He placed a fleeting kiss against the head of Derek’s cock, softly chuckling when Derek released a slight groan before partially glaring at Stiles.

Stiles slunk his way over Derek’s body, his hands bracing on Derek’s chest as he steadied himself. He looked behind him, reaching a hand out to hold Derek’s cock. He lined himself up, thankful for Derek’s hands on his waist, steadying him. He slowly sunk down, his mouth parting in a silent whimper, the pain being more than he thought it would initially be.

“Stiles, stop,” Derek ordered, his hands fastening on Stiles’ hips to stop him from sinking down further. “Don’t hurt—”

“I’m not, it’s just ...” Stiles huffed, pausing with only part of Derek inside him. “It’s a lot … Every time I breathe, I can feel you.” He smiled at Derek, releasing a soft laugh as he shook his head. “It’s perfect.”

Before long, Stiles was nestled in Derek’s lap, with Derek’s cock firmly planted inside him. His hands softly caressed Derek’s abs as he braced himself to move. He moaned when Derek shimmied his hips to settle on the bed better. He looked down at Derek, moving to lean over him, pausing in his actions when he felt how still Derek became.

Derek’s hands tightened on Stiles’ waist, his eyes cast to the side as he tried to calm his breathing. His body tensed with every move of Stiles’ hands, feeling the fingertips trail over his scarred flesh.

“Derek,” Stiles softly started, reaching a hand to cup his face. “Derek, look at me, please.”

Derek slowly turned his gaze back to Stiles, his jaw set tight as he fought his desire to flip them over and thrust away to get Stiles off. He wanted to please Stiles, but hated how open and vulnerable he felt in the moment. He didn’t believe that Stiles was fine with seeing him like this, his skin scarred and mangled compared to how it used to look. He let Stiles lower himself over him, kisses pressed into his face—his cheeks, his jaw, his lips.

“You’re gorgeous,” Stiles softly stated, his lips lingering against Derek’s. He gently moved his hips, rocking up and down onto Derek’s cock as he set a rhythm between them. He watched Derek’s face, catching the way he closed his eyes in pleasure, his fingers tightening on his waist. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed Derek when he opened his eyes. “Oh God, I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

Derek flipped them, pressing Stiles into the bed. He followed Stiles’ pleas for more—faster, harder, deeper. He gave it all to Stiles, pressing to make sure he got as much out of their first time together as he was. His senses were overwhelmed, he felt as if his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

Every moan that fell from Stiles’ lips went straight through Derek. His back arched as he came, fingernails digging into Derek’s lower back as he cried out.

When his own orgasm hit him, Derek clenched his eyes shut as he rutted into Stiles, burying his face into Stiles’ shoulder in an attempt to hide his tears.

Stiles hands were trembling as he held Derek, his voice caught in his throat from his own tears.

They clung to each other, allowing the whelming sense of safety to fall over them.

~*~

“Should we … stop, before the wedding?” Derek asked, uncertain how to word such a question.

“Do you want to?” Stiles sincerely questioned, resting his head against Derek’s bare chest.

“Traditionally, we weren’t even supposed to kiss before the wedding,” Derek explained.

“Traditionally, I shouldn’t _want_ to be so familiarly acquainted with your cock,” Stiles mused, not caring about traditional customs.

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, wishing he would take this seriously.

Stiles released a heavy breath. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I just don’t think we should change how we are unless we want to.” He paused, thinking about Derek’s suggestion. “Do you want to? Because that’s okay with me. We can stop if you want.”

“I don’t want to,” Derek lightly stated. “I just don’t want any of the courtiers catching wind of this, and twisting it into something negative.”

“We’re to marry in less than a week,” Stiles stated, his fingers tracing small circular movements in Derek’s skin. “I doubt much will change before then.”

Derek’s hand settled over Stiles’, his lips pressing a kiss into Stiles’ hair. “Should still be careful.”

Stiles dramatically sighed, wiggling against Derek’s side until he moved to drape his leg over Derek’s, propping his head up in his hand. “If you’re going to be grumpy about it,” he started, poking Derek’s premature scowl.

Derek fondly smacked at Stiles’ hand. “I’m being serious, Stiles. I don’t … ” He let his eyebrows furrow, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

An incredibly fond, slightly emotional, smile pulled at Stiles’ lips. He used his strength to push up against the bed, leaning over Derek. He pressed a soft, languid kiss to Derek’s lips, hand cupping Derek’s cheek. “You can’t mess this up,” he murmured between kisses. “Because I love you, Derek Hale. And I’m going to marry you.”

Derek hesitated, slowly accepting Stiles’ words to be a vow of dedication and loyalty. He pulled Stiles closer to deepen their kiss, allowing Stiles to settle on top of him. “And I love you,” he confessed against Stiles’ lips,

A sharp swell started in Stiles’ chest, the feeling of completeness finally filling him. It felt like joyous nerves sparking, prompting Stiles to released a near giddy laugh as he pressed into showering more kisses on Derek.

Stiles was happy—happier than he could ever remember being.

~*~

Actually, Stiles was nervous.

No, Stiles was freaking out.

As was custom, Stiles was facing forward, waiting for Derek to walk the long aisle of the church as countless people stared at him—in judgment, both positive and negative. He wasn’t allowed to look back and give Derek a reassuring smile like he wanted to. He was terrified that Derek would take the stares of the others to heart, and abandon their plans to wed. Which, in the end, would leave Stiles heartbroken and in an awkward staring contest with the archdeacon holding the crown meant to signify Stiles’ right to ascend now that he wed.

Stiles closed his eyes, a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding finally released when he felt Derek’s hand slip into his own. He opened his eyes to side-eye Derek.

Derek was dressed in the Hale royal colors—emerald, silver, and charcoal. The emerald was subtle, but elegantly traced throughout his ornate clothes. Silver hooks and tassels attached the ridiculous black cape that was mandatory. Both Stiles and Derek glared at the tailor when he said it was an unavoidable custom—Derek’s cape was at least lighter than Stiles’, which unfortunately limited his movement a great deal from how heavy it was.

Derek was breathtaking.

“I want to kiss you,” Stiles uttered under his breath as the archdeacon started the ceremony by chanting in Latin.

“Scandalous,” Derek deadpanned, keeping hold of Stiles’ hand as they both bowed their heads.

“Things I’m doing to you tonight,” Stiles countered. “ _Those_ are scandalous.”

The archdeacon cleared his throat, causing Stiles to look up at him. He gave Stiles an unamused look, eyes gesturing towards the cushion Stiles was meant to kneel on in order to be crowned.

Stiles shrugged, because he refused to be blamed for his love of his soon-to-be husband. He obediently knelt, still holding onto Derek’s hand. He kept his head bowed as the archdeacon announced the appropriate words. His eyes snapped open when the crown touched his head, the weight of it settling heavily across his skull. He moved to stand, keeping his head erect to prevent angering the archdeacon further.

Stiles reluctantly withdrew his hand from Derek, taking the emerald and diamond encrusted, silver circlet from the archdeacon. He turned to Derek, thankful for Scott moving his cape back and out of the way—Stiles made a mental note to burn the cape later tonight.

Derek moved to kneel when prompted by the archdeacon, kneeling before Stiles. He looked up at Stiles, watching him hold the circlet above his head.

“I take thee, Derek Samuel Hale of Triskelia, to be my consort,” Stiles announced, words he memorized the day before. “To place the concerns of Beacon as your own. To take my worries as your own. To be mine.” He paused, knowing he was supposed to place the circlet onto Derek’s head and allow the kingdom to see it as a claim to _owning_ Derek. “To rule beside me,” he added, knowing that rumor of weakness would spread, but the immediate ease in Derek’s features was worth it. He crowned Derek with the circlet, settling it around his head. He offered his hand to Derek, helping him to stand beside him.

They held hands, smiling at one another, as they turned to face the crowd.

~*~

 

A flood of flashes jolted Derek awake, his pulse hammering in his chest. He tried to remember something besides the blackness clouding his mind. He could only remember the ceremony—Stiles placing the circlet on his head, naming him his consort.

 _Stiles_.

Derek’s senses were overwhelmed. A sharp smell of copper hung in the air, causing him to grimace at the stench. His body was heavy, like anchors of lead were tying him down.

Blood.

Screams.

Claws.

Tears.

Derek’s head felt as if it was splitting wide open. He groaned as he sat up, nearly clawing at the pounding in his temple. He looked down at his body, horror filling his senses when he realized that the copper he smelled wasn’t copper at all—it was blood. He shoved the bloodied sheets away, eyes dashing around the room to find a sign of Stiles.

The blood staining his naked body was dried. The room was in a state of ruins. The sheets and pillows were torn apart. There was no sign of Stiles.

Derek yelled for Stiles, yelling for help—for someone to tell him it was just a nightmare that he could wake up from.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek realized that, as he sat in the cell with his head in his hands, it wasn’t something he could wake up from. He had been branded a murderer—a savage animal who attacked and murdered Beacon’s beloved Crown Prince—his own husband.

The hardest part wasn’t how people whispered that it was only a matter of time before Derek proved to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. It was having to face Stiles’ father.

“Where is he?” The King asked, his voice sharp yet wavering slightly.

“I don’t know,” Derek uttered once more. It was the truth, he couldn’t remember hurting Stiles, much less murdering him and hiding his body.

“I just want to bury my son, Derek,” the King answered.

“I don’t know!” Derek snapped as he finally looked up at the King, tears burning his eyes. “I don’t know _anything_! I just know that I’d _never_ hurt him. I love him!” He shook his head, moving his hands to grip handfuls of his hair.

“If you can’t remember Derek, then maybe you did hurt him,” the King softly spoke.

“I wouldn’t hurt _him_ ,” Derek answered. It was the one constant truth he knew deep down in his bones. Stiles was the most important in his life, he knew that even in an altered state, he wouldn’t hurt him—his anchor, his everything.

“How can you be sure?” The King tiredly countered.

“I can’t explain it,” Derek confessed. “I just … know.”

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months. There was still no word about Stiles’ whereabouts. Peter and Cora tried to settle the affair at hand, attempting to get Beacon’s Council and the King to reconsider the death sentence that loomed over Derek’s head. They fought to avoid the inevitable war that would happen if Derek was found guilty.

It wasn’t until Lydia visited that Derek realized the hopelessness in it all.

“You can hate me for however long you want,” Derek offered in order to fill the silence. “But it won’t change whatever happened.”

“What did happen?” Lydia asked from her spot just outside the cell.

“Whatever was in my goblet at the reception,” Derek started, closing his eyes as he struggled with remembering more and more about that night. “It impaired me—more than any alcohol could.”

“People get drunk, Derek,” Lydia countered.

“Not me,” Derek lowly stated, looking up at Lydia. “I was impaired when I went with Stiles back to our room. We were both intoxicated, though I suffered something different than the alcohol Stiles had. We … ” he stopped, remembering the last time he touched Stiles.

They had nearly destroyed their clothes as they fought to feel one another’s naked body. They were excited to feel a final sense of legality to their lovemaking. It wasn’t as slow or thorough as they normally were with one another, both of them stumbling and laughing as they reached the bed. They fucked with most of their clothes on, Stiles bent over the bed as he pushed back into Derek, letting him quickly thrust into him. Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’ waist, tearing away his shirt in order to bury his face in the curve of his spine.

Derek recalled collapsing in the bed afterwards. He remembered Stiles helping him pull his clothes off. But then, when he tried to grab the goblet he had been drinking from, he dropped it to the ground. He could hear the clang of the metal hitting the floor. He felt Stiles’ hands on his shoulders trying to steady him.

And then, nothing.

“You told the Council you consummated the marriage,” Lydia offered when Derek didn’t say anything. “But you can’t recall anything afterwards.”

“I can’t,” Derek confirmed. “But I know something was in that goblet.”

“They want to behead you,” Lydia replied. “But, perhaps you’re telling the truth and there was something happening with the goblets.”

“Goblets?” Derek looked up in question at Lydia.

“Lady Allison Argent,” Lydia explained. “She too was acting strange the night of the reception. She retired early do to illness.”

Derek had met Allison briefly at the reception. He tensed when Lydia introduced her, the Argent name cutting through his endless joy and festive nature. He only saw Kate when he saw her smile, making him feel uneasy and on edge. Stiles was the one that whisked him away, asking him if he was well enough to remain.

Derek nodded in acceptance of Lydia’s comment. “What is your solution, then?”

Lydia silently turned to leave before pausing. She gave thought to Derek’s question, thinking about how to answer it. “To find the truth, despite how ugly it may be.”

Lydia left after that, only to return in the following days. She was the one that released Derek from the cell, offering him a change of clothes and a pack of previsions. She slipped Stiles’ locket into Derek’s hand, having washed the blood from it. “I’ve enacted the Right of Substitution. The Council agreed to let you go, in hopes that you’d find Stiles where the rest have failed.”

“They don’t think I’ll run away,” Derek doubtfully stated as he followed Lydia down to the stables where Triskele was waiting.

Calliope yelped when she saw Derek, hurriedly running toward him. She sniffed him, nudging her head against his leg in joy at having him back.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t come back,” Lydia explained as she watched Derek pet Calliope’s head. “I’m to take your place for your sentencing if you do not return in the following month.”

“Why?” Derek asked as he came to stand by Triskele, pausing his motions to pull himself up onto the saddle. “Why help me?”

“Stiles loved you,” Lydia stoically replied. “He loved you and believed in you. And I think, after seeing how you looked at him, that you deeply love him. And either, in a fit of rage, you slaughtered him and disposed of his body. Or someone wanted it to look that way.”

Derek turned his head to look at Lydia.

“Why would you stay in the bed after murdering Stiles—covered in blood,” Lydia started in explanation. “Also, your goblet from the reception—Deaton inspected it. He can’t be certain, but he said someone laced it with Wolfsbane. Either someone wanted to kill you and failed, or someone wanted to make sure you couldn’t protect Stiles from them.”

“He said Wolfsbane,” Derek uttered, looking down at Calliope as she softly whined at him for a hint of what was to happen.

Lydia nodded. “I sense a theme.”

“I know who it was,” Derek replied, lifting himself up into Triskele’s saddle. He turned to look at Lydia. “An Argent.”

Lydia’s eyes widened some as she looked up at Derek in disbelief. “You’re certain? Just from the Wolfsbane?”

“Scott, when he visited in me, said Calliope had a strange mixture of Wolfsbane poisoning. A mixture that almost killed her,” Derek answered. “The Argents use poison in their traps for wolves—they claim it’s better for the fur to remain unmarred.” He remembered the way Kate would discuss it in vivid detail.

“You think _Allison_ did this?” Lydia asked, finding the whole situation ridiculous.

“You said _Allison_ wasn’t acting normal at the ceremony,” Derek started. “Which means, it might not have been her.”

“You think someone made themselves look like Allison?” Lydia questioned. “It would be a perfect cover. But why?”

“I don’t know,” Derek replied. “But King Stilinski has given me a month. The sooner I discover the culprit, the more likely Stiles will still be … ”

“Don’t think like that,” Lydia stated, moving forward to place her hand on Derek’s. “You’ll find him.”

“No matter what, I will come back,” Derek reassured. “I won’t leave you to take my punishment.”

“I know,” Lydia answered, taking a step back. She watched Derek ride off, Calliope running along side him. She prayed that wherever Stiles was, it was safe.

~*~

Stiles was cold and afraid. He had walked the outskirt of the garden several times, knowing the turns by heart now. He could walk the pathways blind if need be, but there was no exit. Every time he got too close to the wall, a wolf would suddenly appear from nowhere, growling and snapping at him in reprimand. They would slink off back into the maze once Stiles backed away from the walls.

Stiles tried screaming. He had screamed his first few nights trapped here. He screamed until his voice grew hoarse, his throat raw. He cried afterwards, curling his legs up against his chest as he fought off his panic attack.

The first time Stiles heard the animals speak, he was certain he lost his mind. He hurried away from them, certain he was doomed to go insane. It wasn’t until the raven explained where they were and who captured them.

Countess Blake.

Stiles learned that the frog was a Lord’s son, Jackson Whittemore; the raven was none other than Allison Argent; the blonde wolf was a seamstress’s daughter, Erica Reyes.

Jackson had slighted Jennifer when he refused to accept a marriage proposal between the two of them. He disappeared from his parents’ household before his wedding night, waking up here in Jennifer’s maze, cursed to be a frog until true love’s kiss freed him.

Allison was meant to marry Lydia, their engagement a long and uncertain one as they methodically planned out every moment of it. The Court suspected them, but did not dare risk Lydia’s wrath with rumors of it. She angered Jennifer when she discovered that the Argents were actually moving to support the Stilinskis and Hales through Allison’s marriage to Lydia. Now that Gerard was dead, Chris aimed to heal the rift that fell between them.

Allison informed Stiles that she was kidnapped well before his and Derek’s wedding, worrying Stiles to think of who had taken her place at the reception.

Erica’s slight against Jennifer was the smallest. The outfit Erica’s mother repaired for Jennifer, the day she met with the Hale Council about procuring marriage to Derek, was not up to Jennifer’s standards. Jennifer blamed her misfortune of being denied an engagement to Derek on her appearance, which was supposedly hindered by the dress. Erica was the one to take her mother’s place, begging the witch to take her instead.

Stiles discovered that Erica was none other than Boyd’s betrothed; he recalled the way Boyd avoided all topics concerning relationships whenever he attempted to talk to him. He wondered if Boyd knew what happened to Erica, or thought she just abandoned him and their engagement.

Regardless of the circumstances, they were Stiles’ friends.

Jackson sulked, angrily ribbiting, whenever Stiles spoke about being rescued, annoyed by his endless sense of hope that someone would rescue him. He hated seeing how similar he once was to Stiles—his hope had been crushed long ago as months turned into years without a sign that anyone was coming.

Although she was free to fly away whenever she pleased, Allison promised to keep watch over Stiles as he slept. She protected him from his fears of being attacked in the midst of night, ever vigilant and alert to their surroundings and the movements of the wolves roaming as Stiles’ constant guards.

Erica was playful in her actions, offering to catch rabbits for Stiles to cook over his enchanted fire—it appeared that Jennifer didn’t wish for Stiles to grow cold and hungry during his captivity. She would curl up next to Stiles, shy in her eagerness for contact. She was overjoyed when Stiles allowed her to press against him. She was the one that yipped and growled at the wolves if they came too close to Stiles.

Stiles awoke one morning to Erica barking incessantly, catching sight of her prancing from side to side in an effort to block the encroaching wolves. He startled backwards, trying to get away from the closest one by his feet.

Erica leapt between Stiles and the wolf, clawing at the wolf’s face.

It seemed as if the wolves were called when they finally disappeared back into the garden as they always did.

Erica kept her eyes on the various pathways, all the places they could possibly be hiding to surprise Stiles. She settled back down next to him, content with the fact that she got the wolves to leave.

“What did they want?” Stiles finally asked.

“You,” Jackson answered as he hopped away from his edge of the lake by Stiles’ campsite. “They keep coming closer and closer—the whole garden used to belong to just them and us. Now they want it back.”

“Jackson,” Erica frowned, turning her gaze on him.

“I’m not going to lie to him to make him feel better,” Jackson answered, settling among the shade of one of the many plants.

Stiles suddenly scrambled to his feet, running off to the side of the campsite as he felt the vomit rush up from his stomach. He tried to keep the garden relatively clean, like he would a home—he never went to the bathroom near where he was eating and sleeping, and he definitely wasn’t going to vomit near the campsite again. He stumbled through from bushes before he hurled. His stomach clenched, wanting to empty more than it could. He wanted to cry, everything fell apart so quickly.

The night Stiles wed Derek was supposed to be the happiest night of his life, and instead it had turned into a nightmare. He had begun his life with Derek, and it was going to be absolutely perfect. But then, after having sex, Derek suddenly grew disoriented. He thought it was just exhaustion, until Derek nearly fell off the bed and into a deep sleep. He tried to wake him, panic overtaking his lack of sobriety. He stumbled from the bed, rushing to the door to call for help when he saw Calliope.

Calliope was on the ground, her chest expanding in deep breaths before stuttering out deflated whines. Her eyes were barely open, high-pitched whimpers coming faster and faster when she realized Stiles was looking at her.

Stiles moved forward to check on her, stopping when Calliope released a growl—small and pathetic compared to her normal ones.

Then someone had their hands on Stiles, grabbing him harshly. He yelled Derek’s name—he knew he did, despite knowing Derek wasn’t going to wake up. He struggled as he tried to reach for the sabre—the one Derek had gifted him. But unfamiliar words were spoken to him, making him dizzy as unconsciousness overtook him. When he woke, he was stranded in this maze of a garden, with no sign of Derek.

Now, Stiles was vomiting in bushes, talking to animals, and scurrying away from wolves that wanted to eat him, for all he knew. His life had officially migrated from bad to worse. He pushed himself to head back to his campsite, not feeling safe without the others surrounding him.

“Stiles, you look unwell,” Allison commented as she fluttered closer to him as he approached his campsite, her black feathers ruffling in the slightest.

“He looks fine,” Jackson huffed, hopping back towards the lake to determine how long it would take to make the dash across the lake.

“You look paler than usual,” Erica commented, concern lacing her voice.

“I just threw up again,” Stiles partially grumbled as he sprawled out over the grass, turning his sight skyward. His eyes tracked the stars. He wished he was home with Derek.

“You’ve grown sicker these past couple of weeks,” Allison stated, her raven feathers reflecting the moonlight.

Erica pranced up next to Stiles, settling up against his leg in what she hoped would be comforting. “You may just be home sick, Stiles,” she offered. “It happened to all of us in the beginning.”

A wolf howl ripped through the night, causing Stiles to sit up in alarm.

“That’s not one of them,” Erica informed Stiles, turning her sights skyward. “It’s close—it’s calling for its pack.”

“It must be lost,” Stiles commented, frowning as he wondered what happened to Calliope. “Is it hurt?”

“No,” Erica stated, her frown evident in her voice. “But it sounds sad.”

“I’ll go inspect it,” Allison stated, fluffing her wings up as she prepared to take off.

“What if it’s a trap?” Stiles asked as he turned his gaze on Allison.

“Then I pray to be quick enough,” Allison replied before taking flight.

Stiles watched her go, desperately wishing he could take flight and follow after her.

~*~

Derek ran his fingers through Calliope’s fur, soothing her as they rested. It was the first time they allowed themselves a break, Calliope having caught Stiles’ fleeting scent.

Calliope rested her head in Derek’s lap, her eyes scanning the trees as she itched to keep running—to find Stiles. She released a faint whine when Derek stopped petting her.

“I know, girl,” Derek softly answered before he started petting her once more. He knew she was suffering from her unwilling separation from Stiles. He felt the same emptiness growing in his own chest.

A few hours passed, night giving way to the morning dawn, when Derek startled awake at the sound of rustling and Calliope growling.

Derek scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword from the sheath. He looked at where Calliope was growling, noticing a bird acting peculiarly.

The dark feathered raven fluttered its wings, cawing at its place atop Triskele’s saddle. A glinting silver dangled from its talons, as if the bird was trying to place it on display.

A closer look revealed the silver to be none other than Stiles’ locket. Derek grasped at his throat in disbelief, feeling the locket gone. The raven must have ripped the locket from him in the dead of sleep. He lunged forward to grab at the bird, missing it completely. He had to restrain himself from throwing his sword at the damned thing, noticing that it was hovering above him.

The raven was playing games with him, trying to get him to jump at it, all while keeping itself out of his reach.

“Damned bird,” Derek cursed at it. “I don’t have time for this.” If he had to let the locket go, he’d gladly do so, especially if it meant finding Stiles. He forced himself to ignore the bird, moving to climb up into Triskele’s saddle.

Calliope, on the other hand, continuously barked at the bird, snapping her fangs at it.

“Calliope,” Derek sternly ordered her, trying to get her to go after the nearly disappeared scent. They were losing precious time to this stupid raven.

The raven suddenly took off, shooting out through the woods in the direction they were headed last night. Calliope gave chase.

“Calliope!” Derek yelled, never before seeing Calliope act so foolishly.

~*~

“Something’s wrong,” Stiles worriedly stated as he paced along the campfire. “Allison should have been back by now, don’t you think?”

“It could have been further away than we thought,” Erica offered.

“I have to do something,” Stiles replied, finally taking measures into his own hands and marching towards the garden’s wall.

“Stiles!” Erica hurriedly ran after him, wanting to stop him from calling the other wolves down on them.

A sharp caw cracked through the maze, startling Stiles to a stop. He looked up to see Allison flying towards him, uncertain why she was making a show to circle around him overhead. His reflexes kicked in the snatch the falling silver locket as it fell from Allison’s talons. He held the locket tightly as he watched Allison circle. He looked down at the locket in his hand, recognizing the engraved wolf in the silver.

“Derek,” Stiles barely whispered when he realized it was his locket. “Derek!” He yelled loudly, hoping that he was close enough to hear him. “Derek!”

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice answered.

Relief washed over Stiles, tears of happiness burning his eyes. “Derek, I’m in here! Oh, God, please hurry!”

“I’m coming!” Derek answered, his own voice sharp with unknown joy. “Call Calliope, she’ll find a way in.”

Stiles whistled, the call he had trained Calliope to respond to. He heard Calliope’s bark, waiting to see her come running through one of the many openings in the maze. There was the sound of rustling, and the loud drum of Triskele’s hooves as she made a jump near the distant side of the garden.

Stiles smiled, overjoyed when Calliope came running through the maze opening to barrel in, straight for him. He nearly fell over when she swept his legs out, slamming her weight into him in her clumsiness. He hugged her, allowing Calliope to press into him as much as she needed as she scented him.

Calliope sharply barked as she got up, running back into the maze where she came from and into Derek.

Stiles rushed, scrambling to his feet as he ran to Derek. He cried when Derek got his arms around him, pressing his face into Derek’s shoulder as he clung to him. “You found me. You found me,” he repeated, his voice trembling from the fear of never seeing Derek again.

“I thought I lost you,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ hair, holding him tightly against his chest, feeling as if his heart would burst with joy.

“How sweet,” Jennifer’s voice broke through the moment.

Calliope moved in front of Derek and Stiles, growling deeply as she bared her fangs at Jennifer.

Derek moved quickly, placing Stiles behind him as he glowered at Jennifer.

Stiles tightened his hold on Derek’s jacket, pressing up against him in fear that she’d try to separate them. “She’s the one that orchestrated all this.”

“Perceptive, Stiles,” Jennifer sighed in annoyance. “You pathetically played into my hand, both of you did. Even after Derek broke your heart, you were still a senseless fool—a child with a crush.”

“You know nothing about me, or Derek,” Stiles snapped, glaring at Jennifer.

Derek reached a hand back to hold Stiles close to him as he pushed them back when Jennifer stalked forward.

“I knew that you’d get Derek to come here of his own free will,” Jennifer answered with a sickening smile. “Which was all I really needed for things to fall into place.” She lifted her hand, a dark swirling magic wrapping around her arm and hand, glowing lightning shooting from her fingertips and towards them.

Derek shoved Stiles to the side, getting him out of the way of Jennifer’s attack.

“No!” Stiles yelled, knowing it was too late when a blinding light engulfed Derek, making it impossible to see him. He blinked a few times before seeing that a wolf had taken Derek’s place. The clothes Derek had been wearing moments ago were shredded and forgotten on the ground.

The wolf was bigger than the others, black fur making him an inky blob against the maze’s dark colors. He snapped his fangs at the other wolves when they came closer to him, making them flinch back from trying to express domination.

“Derek,” Stiles weakly called, his whole body trembling as he struggled to sit up. He startled when the wolf snapped its head to look at Stiles with a critical glance. He started to push himself back when the wolf turned its entire body to slink closer to him.

“Derek, please,” Stiles softly begged, watching the way the black wolf’s shoulders hunched in anticipation. He hoped that the garden’s magic was true with Derek as it had been with Erica, Allison, and Jackson—that he could understand Stiles’ words.

The eyes were the same color as Derek’s, but they were hollow of all emotion, nothing close to the way Derek often looked at him. Fear shot through his body when the wolf’s lip nearly curled up to reveal fangs, the nose scrunching to scent the air. The wolf pressed forward, trying to get closer to Stiles in an attempt to scent him and gage his purpose for being in the gardens.

Erica leapt over Stiles, slamming into Derek’s wolf form, preventing him from getting closer to Stiles. She snapped her own fangs at Derek, gaining his attention. She pranced from side to side in order to hold Derek’s attention before darting off into the maze, Derek and the other wolves giving chase, leaving Stiles behind.

Stiles scrambled to his feet, backpedaling towards the maze. He wanted to run until he lost himself, hoping he would be safe from the reality that Jennifer had just turned Derek into a feral wolf.

“You think I would let you escape?” Jennifer hissed as she chased after Stiles. “You’ll never leave here, Stiles. I don’t need my wolves to keep you here.”

“If you want to keep me here, you and your wolves will have to kill me,” Stiles answered. His steps faltered when he saw a figure emerging from the shadows to block his path.

 _Kate_.

“You didn’t think this was all about you, did you?” Kate questioned, a sick smile pulling at her lips as she enjoyed the look of dread falling over Stiles’ features.

Stiles’ steps backpedaled, quickly trying to get away from both women as he tried to get to another opening in the maze. He was startled when he felt arms around him, much stronger than he gave Jennifer credit for. He tried to push the arms away, terrified when a sharp pain pierced through his body, directly from Jennifer’s hand poised low on his stomach. He instinctively grabbed at her hand, trying to move it away.

“You think I’d just let you walk away, with a Hale growing inside you?” Jennifer whispered in Stiles’ ear. "My wolves smelled it on you—the stench of a child." Her voice sounded hollow, altered from her naturally light and fluttery voice—more threatening. “With Derek presumed fleeing his crimes, Lydia will be put to death. Your father will engage in war with the Hales, and I will be left to pick up the pieces of the tattered kingdoms with you and your child by my side.”

“Never,” Stiles snapped, digging his nails into Jennifer’s hands to get her to release him.

“Once your _incubation_ period comes to an end, I won’t need you anymore,” Jennifer sneered. “I made you all believe Kate was Allison, it wouldn’t be hard for her to parade around as you.”

Stiles felt weak, lightheaded as he finally ripped himself from Jennifer’s grasp, staggering forward. His vision was spinning, a dizziness wrapping around him as he stumbled to the ground. He started to lose consciousness, clawing at the ground to try and keep going, regardless of how pointless his struggle seemed.

Calliope came out of nowhere, her fangs digging into Jennifer’s leg to prevent her from getting to Stiles. She dodged Kate’s attempt to kick her, growling and snapping her fangs at them. Allison flew in to distract Kate, attempting to claw at her face.

“Stiles, run!” Jackson yelled at him.

Stiles pushed himself onto his feet, staggering towards the maze in hopes that he could find where Derek and Calliope had entered. He was losing consciousness fast, whatever Jennifer did to him working the same way it had in the palace when she captured him. But he wouldn’t let her win this time. He needed to get out—to bring his father and his soldiers back here to free everyone.

Stiles could hear the wolves chasing him, forcing him to will himself to run faster. He cried out when he tumbled down the small steps near the edge of the maze, scuffing his knees and palms as he landed on all fours. He started to crawl, his whole body burning with the need to just give up, a cold sweat covering him. He thought it was all over when a wolf suddenly appeared beside him. He nearly swatted at the wolf when it whined in response.

“Calliope,” Stiles weakly uttered when she gently licked his face.

Calliope released a small whine as she moved to get under Stiles’ arm, helping him to stand.

Stiles could feel the blood matted in her fur, silently praying that she wasn’t hurt. He let Calliope guide him forward, partially staggering as his sight started to leave him. He stopped when a neigh sounded next to him, reaching his hand up, only to touch Triskele’s mane. He took a deep breath, lifting his foot into the stirrup before using what was left of his strength to pull himself up into the saddle.

Stiles couldn’t find the reins, giving up as he allowed his body to rest against Triskele’s neck. He gently took hold of her mane, hoping she wouldn’t mind. “Take me home, Triskele. Please.”

Triskele released a faint neigh—a protest of sorts as she stamped her hooves.

“Please,” Stiles weakly asked. “We have to get out of here, so we can come back. Please, Triskele. Please.” He was growing weaker by the second and knew that he might not be able to hold on to her if she took off once the wolves found them.

Triskele moved into motion, turning to gallop for the part of the garden that they had entered through. She took the jump gracefully, landing with little difficulty, which greatly Stiles to remain in the saddle.

Stiles passed out once they reached the woods, hoping he wouldn’t fall off the saddle as Triskele sped away from the garden.

A forlorn howl cut through the night, calling after Stiles.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaahhhhh! What an end. I'm so glad that you guys have been patient with me for getting this done--with everything that's been chaotically happening to me.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!
> 
> (I hope you love it, babe ;) Can't wait to tear your heart out next year <3)

Stiles wrapped the fur cloak tighter around his body, hating the longer he had to sit and listen to the Council debate the pros and cons with his father about going to Derek’s aid. His hand absent-mindedly ran along the contours of his stomach.

Almost a week had passed since he escaped the garden, and already a small bump was present. Melissa stated that whatever Jennifer did to him had no effects on him or the baby, confident that everything would be fine. There were still slight chills that ran through him, aftereffects of Jennifer’s attempt to knock him unconscious.

“How do we know that Prince Derek wasn’t part of it all?” One of the Council members questioned.

Stiles abruptly stood, marching closer to the others with such force that it startled them.

“Stiles,” the King started, moving to hold Stiles’ arm in an attempt to keep him calm.

“He saved me,” Stiles firmly stated as he glared at the Council. “Countess Blake, Queen Jennifer, _vile witch_ —whatever you want to call her, she is the one that poisoned Derek the night of our wedding. She nearly killed Calliope and held me hostage for months as you sat and twiddled your thumbs doing nothing.”

“Stiles, the baby—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles snapped. “I’m fine, and the baby is fine, because of Derek.” He looked up at his father, tears burning his eyes. “I just want him back—I want him safe.”

The King nodded. “I know, Stiles, I know.”

Stiles wanted to scream because his father _didn’t_ know. His father didn’t know how heart broken he was when he forced himself to leave Derek behind—terrified that he’d never see him again.

Stiles pulled away from his father, leaving the Council behind, in hopes that his father would convince them to save Derek and the others. He pulled the fur cloak higher up on his shoulders in an attempt to keep it from falling off. He drummed his fingers over his stomach, constantly aware of the fact that there was more at risk now than ever. He needed to get Derek back.

Hours passed. Stiles used the time to be useful, writing a letter to Boyd to allow him to know the outcome. He wrote about being kidnapped, Derek’s fate to be cursed by Jennifer, and that he had found Erica. He detailed the story Erica had told him, hoping that the letter would give Boyd the closure he needed. A small part of him further hoped that Boyd would believe him—maybe even come to see about rekindling his and Erica’s engagement.

It wasn’t until the late hours of the night that his father finally relayed the news to Stiles—the Council decided to build up Beacon’s walls, all in attempts to protect the kingdom from Jennifer’s oncoming attack.

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” the King uttered, knowing that it was not the answer he wanted or hoped for. He didn’t like the result any more than Stiles, but it was a unanimous decision.

“She’ll kill him,” Stiles softly stated.

“You can’t think like that, son,” the King tried to foster hope.

“You’re right,” Stiles answered. “She’ll order him to kill me, allow him to change back and mourn what he did, before ending his life.” He stood, leaving his father behind as he aimed to retire for the evening.

Stiles cried through the night, his hand reached out to lay against the side of the bed meant for Derek. His eyes lingered on the sheets, his tears silently rolling down his cheeks and dropping onto the bed. A lump stayed in his throat, a heartache shooting through his chest.

Even Calliope’s comforting presence wasn’t enough to stop the pain. She was laying at the foot of the bed, her head resting on Stiles’ feet. She released a soft whine when she realized that Stiles’ tears weren’t going to stop.

Stiles missed Derek, thinking of him as he twisted the locket around the chain. He thought of how the Council had turned their back on Derek, thinking that he was part of the attempt to harm Stiles.

Stiles hid away in his favorite window seat, blocking out the rest of the world with the curtain in place. He stared out the window, longing to think of a plan that would allow him to successfully travel back to the garden and defeat Jennifer and Kate. Nothing came to mind, just the hollow heartache he felt lingering in his chest.

Stiles held Derek’s book in his lap, one of the only possessions Derek had brought with him when they came to Beacon. It was the book he had been reading when he fell ill. It was the book that still held Stiles’ old ribbon in it. His fingers idly played with the ribbon, thinking about how Derek would play with it as he read.

“Mind if I join you?” Peter’s voice spoke through the curtain, startling Stiles. He pulled the curtain to the side to look at Stiles. “A prime hiding spot,” he commented as he inspected the window seat.

“My favorite spot,” Stiles explained, moving to curl his legs under himself to give Peter a spot to sit.

Peter took Stiles’ offer, moving to sit beside him. He turned the book in his hand around, setting it in his lap before turning and looking at Stiles. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he started, gesturing his hand towards Stiles’ stomach.

“When Derek is back with us, you can congratulate us both,” Stiles answered.

“That may be more difficult than we thought,” Peter replied.

“You’ve heard the Council’s decision,” Stiles concluded, his emotions feeling dead as he accepted that even the Hales might be helpless to save Derek.

“I’ve heard that they wish to not delude their forces incase Jennifer intends to attack,” Peter corrected. “I also heard you told them that my nephew had been turned into a wolf.” He looked at Stiles, his eyes carefully evaluating him. “Is that true?”

“As crazy as it sounds, yes,” Stiles tiredly admitted for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Not that crazy,” Peter softly commented.

“The world is a very crazy place,” Stiles concluded. “I want him back, Peter,” he confessed as he turned to look out the window, watching the rain clouds pulling closer to the palace. “I want him safe from them. Every second we delay is a second more Jennifer and Kate have to hurt Derek.”

“You believe it’s possible to save Derek?” Stiles solemnly asked.

“I guess it depends on what you believe,” Peter stated as he turned to look at Stiles. “What are you willing to believe, Stiles?”

“I saw a power hungry woman turn my husband into a wolf,” Stiles answered, looking at Peter. “I think I’m open to believing a great deal.”

Peter nodded, turning the book in his hands over as he inspected the cover. “This is a very old book, that has been in the family for generations. It holds our secrets and our livelihood within its pages.” He held the book out to Stiles, offering it to him. “If you are with child, and truly wish to have Derek back, then you deserve to know the truth.”

“And then what?” Stiles asked, hesitating to reach out and take the book. He wanted to know if Derek would have given him the book on his own, or have kept its existence hidden.

“Then you make a decision,” Peter stated. He was happy when Stiles took the book from his hands, standing to leave in order to give Stiles privacy. “The Hales and Triskelia’s royal guards are with you, should you decide that you still wish to save Derek from Jennifer’s and Kate’s clutches.” He offered Stiles a small bow of his head before departing.

Stiles disliked how final the action felt. He turned his attention towards the book, bracing himself before opening the pages.

~*~

Stiles emerged from the window seat with the Hales’ book, the ribbon safely tucked away within its pages. He wasn’t surprised when he was met with resistance from the Council and his father. The Council didn’t want to risk two of Beacon’s heirs—Stiles and the baby—while his father didn’t want to risk losing his son, or possibly, his grandchild.

“I have a plan,” Stiles argued, clutching the book tightly in his hand. “If we don’t meet them head on, we’ll never be able to defeat Jennifer and her tricks.”

The Council were enraged by the idea of the King allowing Stiles to go, but ultimately recanted their opposition when the King made it clear that he wouldn’t change his mind to support Stiles.

Stiles didn’t waste time heading for the stables, getting Triskele saddled and prepared for the journey back to the garden.

“You shouldn’t be going,” Lydia’s voice stated from somewhere above him.

Stiles turned to look up from his spot by Triskele’s shoulder, catching sight of Lydia sitting atop her Clydesdale, Prada. He never fully liked Prada, neither did Triskele, but both horses appeared to be sharing in a truce as they actively ignored each other. “Oh, and you _should_ be going?”

“I’m not carrying an heir to both the Beacon and Triskelia thrones, nor am I next in line for a throne myself,” Lydia primly replied as she settled her gloved hands against the front of Prada’s saddle. “Besides, I wouldn’t leave Allison there.”

Stiles knew how Lydia felt—he wasn’t going to leave Derek there, either. He frowned as he fastened the saddle on Triskele. “It’s going to be dangerous.”

“That’s why I brought Allison’s father along,” Lydia replied, gesturing towards Chris Argent.

Stiles turned to look at Allison’s father.

Chris Argent was a handsome man. He was a seasoned warrior, an excellent hunter, and more importantly, cared about the wellbeing of people in general. He was nothing like the rest of his family, and he taught his daughter his own basic principles, ones that were not corrupted by his father.

And more importantly to the Court, he was newly widowed.

“Peter knows him?” Stiles asked as he watched Peter and Chris exchange words.

Peter rolled his eyes to whatever Chris said. Chris grabbed Peter’s arm to stop him from walking away. It seemed as if it was a type of dance the two perfected in the past, both of them seeming to have a familiarity with one another.

“Their wives were cousins,” Lydia stated. “Though, they were more like sisters than anything else.”

“And now Chris’ daughter and Peter’s nephew are in danger,” Stiles solemnly stated.

“You know, that danger is all the more reason why Derek wouldn’t want you going,” Lydia answered.

“I won’t be alone,” Stiles replied, climbing up into the saddle. He looked down at the ribbon wrapped around his wrist, his thoughts with Derek. His grip on the reins tightened as he pulled back and directed Triskele out of the stables.

Calliope barked, following after Stiles.

~*~

Stiles only had a split second to make his decision. He slid off of Triskele’s saddle, ignoring Lydia call his name as he ran into the garden with Calliope by his side. He followed Calliope up the crumbling staircase and towards the ruined wall that had allowed Triskele to jump to and from the garden. He slipped off the edge of the wall, landing back into the garden.

But now was different—Stiles wasn’t looking to escape the garden again, not without Derek. He offered Calliope the ribbon, allowing her to use it as a scent marker to seek out Derek. He followed after Calliope, holding his cape close to him as he kept himself aware of the garden’s maze.

Stiles looked up at the sky briefly, catching sight of the full moon as its light lit up the maze’s darkness. He startled when he looked back down only to discover that Calliope was missing, a wall of hedge in front of him. He knew he hadn’t been turned around, knowing that Jennifer was aware of his presence and seeking to cruelly toy with him.

“This is where you wanted me, isn’t it?” Stiles called out. “Come face me. Or are you afraid of a _child_?” He knew his baiting worked when he heard the maze’s hedges shift. He turned around to look at what the maze revealed. He saw the fountain from the Hale palace, its waters trickling in a familiar rhythm.

The fountain looked the same as it had the last time he saw it, before returning to Beacon with Derek. He remembered the way they spent days by the fountain’s side, reading books and having friendly conversation.

Two children suddenly ran passed them, squealing with joy as they chased one another. The girl had long, dark and curly chestnut hair, and appeared to be older than the boy. She laughed as she remained out of his reach, circling around the fountain to flee him. The boy, on the other hand, had short onyx hair, and moles scattered across his body. He scowled when he realized that he wouldn’t be able to catch the girl.

“You’re cheating,” the boy whined as he slowed down some.

“You’re just too slow,” the girl teased as she turned around, still running in place.

The boy moved to chase her once more, only to release a surprised squawk when none other than Derek.

Stiles’ breath caught in his chest when he saw the way Derek smiled, the children laughing as he playfully picked them both up.

Derek looked up, catching sight of Stiles. He offered him a faint smile, placing the children down. “Go see if Calliope needs anything,” he ushered them towards the elderly wolf resting by the fountain.

Neither of the children argued as they moved to check on Calliope. With the years that passed, Calliope was much older, silver hair in her fur as she tiredly rested her head against the ground. Her tail eagerly wagged as the children came to sit beside her.

Derek moved to sit on the lip of the fountain, turning his body towards Stiles. He smiled up at him as Stiles came closer to him. He reached a hand out, offering for Stiles to sit beside him.

“Is this real?” Stiles asked as he sunk down next to Derek, his eyes wandering over to the children.

“Of course it is,” Derek answered, reaching a hand out to touch Stiles’ cheek as he leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was strange. It felt weird—wrong. It didn’t feel like _Derek_.

Stiles was the first to pull away, his hand moving to press against Derek’s chest. He noticed how Derek didn’t flinch. He looked down at his hand, knowing that he was pressing on Derek’s bad side—knowing that Derek wouldn’t be able to press in as he was doing now.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, his arm almost tightening around Stiles’ waist.

“We have to go,” Stiles nearly whispered in uncertainty. He furrowed his eyebrows, knowing he was forgetting something important.

“We just got here,” Derek answered, his arm holding Stiles close.

“No,” Stiles softly countered, turning to look at Derek. “I just got back.” He quickly pulled himself away from Derek, moving from the fountain to stand by himself. He took a few steps back from Derek, carefully watching his movements. “This isn’t real,” he uttered. “You’re not Derek, and those—” his eyes flickered over to where the two children were playing with a content looking Calliope. His hand immediately moved to his stomach, remembering that he still had his baby to think about. “Those are not my children.”

A muffled howl reached out to him, pulling his attention away from the spectacle in front of him. “Derek,” he quietly uttered, moving forward. He was knocked off balance by something heavy, a sharp pain radiating through his side as he fell to the ground. He turned his head to see Kate looming over him.

“I will admit, you’re better than I thought you were,” Kate stated, kicking her foot at Stiles’ legs.

Stiles pushed back, scurrying backwards on his hands as he kicked his feet at the ground in a hurried manner. He kept his eyes on Kate, not trusting to take his eyes off of her. “You could never act like Derek.”

“I will admit, I nearly vomited when I had to kiss you,” Kate answered with a sneer. “But Jennifer wants you and your spawn alive. But she doesn’t know what it is.”

“And nothing’s ever stopped you from taking what you want,” Stiles spit.

“You are a child,” Kate rolled her eyes. “See the bigger picture here, _Stiles_ ,” she mocking started as if she was teaching a child an important moral lesson. “I am going to win, one way or another.” Her leg shot out, kicking at Stiles’ stomach.

Stiles quickly wrapped himself up in the fetal position, blocking Kate from hitting his stomach. He held his knees against his chest as he allowed Kate to kick his shins against and again.

“I always win in the end,” Kate seethed, she grew angrier with every one of her kicks that missed Stiles’ stomach. “I won when my father killed Derek’s father. I won when I burned Derek’s mother in her bed. And I am not going to let a snot nosed kid beat me, just because he happened to get knocked up by a Hale. I will die before I let a Hale survive.”

Stiles kept his head down, knowing that Kate wasn’t going to stop. He instinctively kicked his legs out, his feet connecting with Kate’s legs and knocking her down. He didn’t waste the opportunity, scrambling to his feet and running into the maze. He could hear Kate pursuing him, but he didn’t give up as he pushed himself to run faster. He tripped over himself a few times, but kept going, eventually stumbling back upon his old campsite.

Stiles looked out at the lake, the water’s surface catching the moonlight enough to sharply reflect it. He remembered Jackson telling him how Jennifer littered the bottom of the lake with countless weapons of the men and women she defeated over the years. For a split second, he pondered diving into the lake and searching for a weapon, but he knew he’d never be able to see the bottom in the dark.

“You ruined Jennifer’s plans when you escaped,” Kate’s voice broke Stiles’ thoughts, forcing him to turn and see her looming between him and the maze. “I think she won’t be too upset with you dead. After all, you brought the _wolves_ to her gates.” A sickeningly smug smile pulled at her lips.

Stiles kept his eyes concentrated on the figure emerging from the maze itself.

The black wolf slunk out from the maze, its paws lazily pressing forward as its claws dug into the dirt. It released a faint growl, huffing out an annoyed breath of air as it moved closer to Kate.

“Would you prefer to die quickly, or have a wolf tear you apart?” Kate questioned Stiles, able to see the way his adrenaline made him tremble.

“I’d prefer you to be torn apart,” Stiles snapped, his eyes never leaving the wolf.

The wolf’s eyes lit up in the moonlight, carefully watching Stiles.

“Jennifer’s wolves are less savage than true wolves,” Kate commented. “But Derek being the one to tear you apart seems rather fitting.” She smiled to herself. “I’m eager to see how he’ll take the news when Jennifer turns him back—I hope she lets me tell him about the baby.”

The wolf growled again, its shoulders hunching as it continued to look at Stiles.

Stiles, for a split second, was worried that Derek had no control over his wolf form. He feared that this was how it was going to end—their story having a sour note of defeat in it. He worried they would become nothing more than a lullaby that would be sung in generations to come, as a warning of those seeking to marry for love—that you can turn on one another.

“Tear,” Kate commanded the wolf.

But it wasn’t Stiles the wolf tore apart. It was Kate who screamed when the wolf attacked her. Her screams stopped when the wolf’s fangs tore her throat out.

Time seemed to freeze, Stiles’ blood running cold as he watched with a type of joy at seeing the life drain from Kate. He hated that he felt happy to know that she wouldn’t be coming back—that she couldn’t hurt Derek anymore, not after this.

The other wolves suddenly began to appear, as if ants emerging from their hill. The wolves slunk out of maze, eyes all on Stiles.

Stiles noted that there were two more wolves than usually. There were two wolves, close to Derek in size, that were not there before Stiles had left the garden last time. One was a wolf with dark chestnut hair; the other looked older, a dark onyx color with a silver patch on its chest.

The black wolf turned from Kate’s lifeless body, looking back at Stiles. The blood around its snout was minor, but Stiles could still see the blood hidden in the dark color of its fur, glistening in the moonlight.

Stiles wondered if Derek had felt his fangs go through Kate’s throat.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Jennifer’s voice seemed to echo through the maze before singling in on her as she exited one of the maze’s entrances. “I didn’t think I could get rid of Kate, but this worked out nicely. Unfortunately, she was correct. My plans for you have changed. Now that you’ve brought the Hales and Lydia to my doorstep—well, you actually made my job easier. I can just kill you all now and then deal with your father when it’s time.”

“Murdering them here won’t give you the kingdoms,” Stiles countered, waiting for the wolves to all rush him at Jennifer’s command.

“No, but it will move things along,” Jennifer answered. “As they scramble to help save Allison, Erica, and Jackson, my wolves will be ready to move on from you to their next meal.”

Stiles’ eyes flickered over to the black wolf seeing the way the other wolves stayed behind it.

Jennifer spoke in an arcane language, the wolves seeming to react and understand it. “Kate was right about one thing, though—having Derek end your life does have a bit of sweet revenge attached to it.”

The black wolf moved forward, its shoulder rolling from side to side as its hulking body slunk closer to Stiles. The wolf paused when it reached its spot directly in front of Stiles. It lifted its head, sniffing the air before looking back at Stiles. Suddenly the wolf moved in, pressing its face against Stiles’ stomach.

Stiles tried not to flinch when the wolf pressed its face there, the force of the wolf shoving into him caused him to lose his balance. He toppled over, nearly landing spread eagle on the ground when the wolf move forward to press its face into his stomach once more. He tried not to grimace when the wolf attempted to lick his stomach. He released a small yelp when the wolf nipped at the clothes covering Stiles’ stomach.

The wolf huffed before unapologetically pushing back in, its nose moving under Stiles’ shirt to press against his bare skin. The wolf left a long lick against Stiles’ stomach before Stiles realized what was happening. It was marking both the baby and Stiles as its own.

Derek knew, and Derek was in control.

“Derek,” Stiles softly called reaching a hand out to touch Derek’s muzzle.

Derek pressed into Stiles’ palm, closing his eyes before opening them to look up at Stiles. His eyes were as warm and welcoming as they had been the first night they shared one another’s bed.

A red flash suddenly flickered through Derek’s eyes, a telling sign—the book had mentioned that an Alpha werewolf could be recognized by the crimson red of their eyes.

Derek turned, making himself an obstacle between the other wolves and Stiles. He released a faint growl before rearing his head back and howling. A chain reaction started, the other wolves echoing his command.

“What did you do?” Jennifer demanded to know, the sudden terror evident as she watched the wolves turn on her.

“Kate wasn’t lying when she called the Hales wolves,” Stiles answered.

The chestnut colored wolf—Cora—and the onyx colored wolf with a silver patch—Peter—came to flank beside Derek.

“Talia Hale was Alpha of the Hale pack,” Stiles continued, moving to stand. He stepped forward to take a place beside Derek, his hand resting against Derek’s shoulders. “When Kate killed her, the Alpha spark passed on to Derek because he was the one that found her in the fire. Kate made the mistake of assuming that Peter or Laura would become the Alpha. But you were the one that made the mistake of leaving your wolf pack Alpha-less. You made the bigger mistake when you unknowingly introduced an Alpha wolf into your pack.”

Derek released a faint growl, his eyes flaring a deep red as he watched the wolves snap their fangs at Jennifer. He moved to sit beside Stiles, leaning against Stiles’ leg as he waited for the wolves to as they pleased.

The wolves charged Jennifer, turning on their once captor.

~*~

“Is he still cursed?” Stiles asked as he ran his fingers through Derek’s fur. He allowed Derek to rest his head in his lap.

“He’s stuck,” Peter explained as he pulled his shirt the rest of the way on.

“Jennifer forced him to shift into his wolf form,” Chris explained, examining Derek’s wolf form from a distance.

Derek would growl whenever someone got too close to Stiles—even Peter and Cora received growls of warning.

“He probably feels like he can protect you better in this form,” Peter rationalized. “Now that Jennifer is dead, her curses have been lifted. He should have changed back when the others did.”

“He probably feels guilty,” Cora answered as she moved in closer to look down at Derek. “Remember when he tried shifting after the fire and he ripped a bunch of his wounds open?”

Stiles looked up at Cora, his eyes moving to Peter.

“We feel closer to pack when we shift,” Peter explained. “Sometimes it’s hard for us to retake our human forms if our anchors are fumbled.”

“He probably thinks you’re afraid of him,” Chris offered.

“That’s a possibility,” Peter chimed in agreement.

“How did you know he wouldn’t attack you?” Chris asked Stiles, somewhat baffled to see a werewolf acting as tamed as Derek was.

“Jennifer assumed that Derek was like ordinary werewolves and lacked the power to remain in control,” Peter explained. “Derek hasn’t shifted in a while, because of his scars. He was lost for a little bit, but the moment he saw Stiles—”

“But Derek almost bit Stiles,” Erica argued as she tied the cloak around her naked body. “I distracted him long enough for Stiles to run.”

Derek released a soft whine in protest.

“Actually,” Peter started with a soft sigh. “Derek was being territorial. He chased you because you got between him and his mate and unborn child. He was acting on primal instinct alone.” He looked at the way Derek pressed in closer to Stiles—closer to his stomach. “Being locked inside his wolf form longer gave him better control. He was in full control when he came back here—he even situated himself as the pack Alpha in that short of time.”

“He didn’t have the wolves attack us after you left,” Allison commented as she pulled on her boot, the last article of clothing she had to put on—Lydia rarely traveled without a spare outfit, seemingly enough in Allison’s favor.

Stiles finally stopped petting Derek, hoping that his plan would work. “I need you to sit up,” he instructed Derek when he arched a judgmental eyebrow at Stiles for moving.

Derek reluctantly sat up, squaring his shoulders high as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles unwrapped the ribbon from his wrist, moving to give it to Derek. He paused his motions, leaning his head to the side to extend his throat in offering to Derek.

A small, wounded whine emitted from Derek’s chest at seeing the act of Stiles offering himself up. He ducked his head forward, burying his face against Stiles’ shoulder and neck.

Stiles suppressed a small laugh of joy as he loosely wrapped the ribbon around Derek’s front ankle, just above his paw. “You saved me—you saved everyone. There’s nothing to feel guilty about. Please, Derek. I miss you. Come back to me,” he whispered against Derek’s ear. He closed his eyes as he waited, willing to stay all night and day if necessary.

“Always,” Derek’s hoarse voice whispered back.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, not bothering to try and hide Derek’s naked form. He just wanted to hold him, and be held by him. He released a faint laugh when Derek pulled him in close, both of them almost toppling over.

Neither was surprised when Calliope came rushing over to dive on top of them both.

~*~

“You knew,” Derek whispered against Stiles’ shoulder that night. Their bodies were bare, tangled in the sheets as Derek held Stiles tightly against his chest.

“Cora said you kept the ribbon on difficult nights,” Stiles offered.

“It wasn’t the ribbon,” Derek softly answered.

“Are you calling me your anchor?” Stiles questioned as he turned his head to look at Derek, his fingers picking at the ribbon still tied around Derek’s wrist.

“You know you are,” Derek replied. “The ribbon held your scent long after you left. It kept me grounded—it kept me human—because it gave me the comfort I needed in your absence.”

Stiles twisted in the bed, rolling over to face Derek. “I don’t mind being a wolf’s ribbon,” he stated against Derek’s lips, leaving fond kisses against them.

“You’re more than that,” Derek replied. “More than a ribbon—an anchor. You always were _more_.”

Stiles blinked back his tears of joy, taking one of Derek’s hands to move low across his belly. “We’re more.”

~*~

_Find your anchor. Something meaningful to you. A memory, a feeling, anything. And once you find it, that will keep you in control. It will keep you tied to your human self._

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


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